


The Bouquet Stories

by pensnest



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Glambert, NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Food, Genderswap, M/M, Multi, Spanking, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:59:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 64,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensnest/pseuds/pensnest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an all-in-one post of my Bouquet universe, including 'Can't see the wood for the 42Ds' even though that is not strictly speaking part of the timeline but an offshoot!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bouquet Stories

**Author's Note:**

> For detailed notes and credits, please see the individual stories in the Bouquet series.

# 1\. Bouquet

 **Betony  
 _surprise_**

Kris was counting the minutes until they could leave. His smile muscles were aching even more than the rest of him. It was too much, having to do this private party, when they'd already done the show and the meet-the-fans stuff tonight, he wanted to get upstairs to his room with his wife, preferably while he had the strength not to fall asleep right off. The tour was brutal, and they didn't often get the chance to sleep in a bed instead of a bunk, but with two shows in the same city a night in a hotel made a very welcome change. It came with a price, though, and the price was New York record company execs and a bunch of celebrities drinking cocktails. But, some of the others didn't have contracts yet, and if this kind of thing helped, then of course it had to be done.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!"

"What is it, honey?"

"Oh my God! Over there. Lance Bass!"

"Who?"

"Lance Bass! From Nsync! Oh my God!"

Kris looked at his wife in surprise. Katy never got like this. She'd met a whole bunch of famous people now, and never been so jittery about any of them.

"Oh, my God, I was such a fan when I was a kid." She didn't seem to be hyperventilating, but he kept a suspicious eye on her. "I got all the CDs, I had posters all over my bedroom, I had the lipgloss, everything. I went to a concert, and I was, I was like, high, for days! I mean, Nsync! They were the biggest thing ever."

"You want to meet him?"

"I, I, I don't know, I'll probably, I won't know what to say, it'll be so embarrassing." She really, really wanted to meet this guy, Kris could tell. There was a gleam of longing in her eyes that reminded him of his own fans. It was very strange. He'd gotten used to classifying 'The Fans' as a sub-category of their own, and to find that his wife was one...

"Looks like you're going to get the chance," he murmured. The guy was coming towards them.

Katy squeaked. Actually squeaked, and grabbed his hand. Kris patted her reassuringly, and smiled in the direction of the incoming guy.

"Hi, I'm Lance Bass. Congratulations on your win," he said, and he sounded sincere and had a big, open smile. "I saw the show tonight, really enjoyed it."

Kris shook the offered hand. "Kris Allen, but I guess you know that. This is my wife, Katy."

"Pleased to meet you, Katy. You must be very proud of your husband."

"Yes, I, uh, did you vote for him?"

"Ah, some of the time," said Lance Bass. "I thought _Heartless_ was a fantastic performance. Loved it."

You voted for Adam, didn't you, Kris thought, but he actually had no problem with that, and it was a bit mean of Katy to put the guy on the spot the way she had. "My wife's a big fan of yours," he said, slyly.

"Really?" He looked pleased. "Mine in particular, or were you an Nsync fan?"

"I loved Nsync! I thought I was going to marry one of you when I was thirteen years old."

"Not me, I hope," said Lance, and grinned. "Who was your favorite?"

Ahaha, thought Kris, revenge for the 'did you vote for my husband' thing.

Katy blushed. "JC," she admitted.

Lance nodded. "You have excellent taste," he told her, gravely. "Though I don't think he'd make a very good husband. And now you have your own superstar."

"Not so much a superstar," Kris said.

"You will be," Katy told him, loyally.

"You have a record contract, and a whole lot of national exposure," said Lance.

"Yeah, it's a great start. I never thought I'd actually win."

"It must have been a nerve-racking experience," Lance said, "all those eliminations to get through."

"Yeah, it really was. It was nearly as bad saying goodbye to some of the others as it would've been getting eliminated myself. It's great to be back together again for the tour."

"I know what you mean. You get real close to people on a show like that, even though you're supposed to be in competition."

Kris wasn't sure what to make of that, but Katy knew. "I voted for you all the time on Dancing with the Stars," she said. "And for Joey. I thought that British judge was real nasty to you and Lacey. You should have won."

"Eh, that's how it goes, I guess. We got to the final, which is way better than I thought I ever would. But Brooke's a sweetheart, we got to be such good friends, and she deserved to win. And Lacey and me got to do the tour, which was a lot of fun. Are you traveling with Kris, or just meeting up sometimes?"

"I wish she could be there all the time," Kris said.

"Nah, you and Adam need some boy time," Katy said, poking him in the ribs. "And I have to work. But I get to join them sometimes, like now, and it's great. Oh! Lance, did you meet Adam yet? You have to meet Adam. He's wonderful."

*

Lance was not sure he wanted to meet Adam Lambert. On the one hand, incredibly hot guy, great singer, on the other hand, there was that little throwaway dig he'd made about 'celebrity-magazine bullshit' in his coming-out interview. Lance wasn't sure if that meant him or not, but he'd had too much experience of that kind of crap to discount it completely, and he didn't want to risk having his fears confirmed. "I'm sure he's gonna have a great career, too," he said. "That duet you guys did with Queen in the finale was amazing. Anyway, I guess I should be—"

"Adam!" Katy called, beaming.

"Hey, beautiful," Adam Lambert said, sweeping her into a mighty hug. "You having a good time? Can I make it better?" He was ridiculously good-looking, and that smile.

"I want you to meet Lance Bass," she said, proudly. "Lance, Adam Lambert."

"Oh. Hi."

"Pleased to meet you," said Lance, offering his hand. They shook. "Congratulations on the—"

"Excuse me. Kris, there's someone I'd like you to meet." It was the PR rep from Jive, smiling her shark smile as she propelled Kris ruthlessly on towards the next group of Useful People. Katy, rather uncertainly, grabbed his other hand and was swept away, much to Lance's regret.

It seemed, however, there was no escape.

*

"So... this is where we make polite conversation for about two minutes," said Lance Bass.

Adam was startled. "I wasn't planning on being rude," he said.

"No, that's not what I—We just. If we don't talk to each other at all, tomorrow's gossip column is all about us having a bitchfight about who's the most famous gay in America, and if we talk for too long it's, are Adam and Lance dating now." Bass paused, gave a bright, toothy smile, and looked up at him expectantly.

He thinks I'm going to hit on him, thought Adam. Arrogant little prick! Drake's right here in the room, and anyway it's not like I'd hit on some vacuous guy who spends all his time being photographed coming out of nightclubs. "What, you're saying those are the only two options? That's ridiculous."

"It is, but people like that only think in cliché. If you think it won't happen, it's only because you haven't been in the spotlight long enough yet. These people have one-track minds, and they don't need a whole lot of facts to make up a scenario."

"Does it matter what kind of bullshit goes into a gossip column? Maybe you should just not read them."

"I don't. And it doesn't exactly matter, but you're just getting started, you don't want to be stuck with whatever image they choose to fit on you. You want to make your own story. We should have a, like, a business conversation, talk about your music or your recording contract or something, so if anyone overhears, that's all they got."

"Why would us having a conversation makes the gossip columns at all?"

"It shouldn't, but it will. Look over my left shoulder. The brunette in the pink dress that does her skin tone no favors at all? She's a feed for Perez Hilton. And if you think she hasn't noticed us together..."

"Pretty sure she has," said Adam. "She's coming over."

"Crap," said Bass. "So, when do you start work on your album?"

"Hi, Lance!" It was the brunette in the pink. It really was a dreadful color on her. She and Bass, however, exchanged air kisses—the hypocrite—and she introduced herself as Milla Somethingunpronounceable. "So, the two most gorgeous unavailable guys in New York. You two must have so much in common."

"We were just—" Bass began, but Adam had a better idea.

"We were just talking about music," he said with a carefully engaging smile. "Thinking maybe we should record something together."

"Seriously?" She looked delighted. "That would be so awesome! Are you planning to write something new? Will it be a gay love song?"

"No," said Bass. "We're going to do _Flower_. The Liz Phair song."

"You heard it here first," Adam said, brightly.

"How fabulous!" Milla Unpronounceable sounded quite breathless. "I should let you boys get back to your conversation. Great to meet you, Adam, love the outfit, mmmm, so hot!" And she flittered away, presumably to text Perez Hilton his completely fabricated story.

"Are you insane?" said Bass, just as though he hadn't played right along.

"Like you said, I want to make my own story. Anyone who runs with that is going to look very foolish."

"Okay, yeah, but—"

"Hey there." It was Drake. "Oh, hi, you're Lance Bass, right?" He leaned forward to shake hands. "I'm Drake LaBry."

"Hi, how're you doing?" Bass said in response.

"Hey, baby." Adam slung his arm very deliberately over Drake's shoulder. "Didja miss me?"

"I did kinda think we might get to spend some time together," Drake said. "Didn't really come right across the country to make small talk to a bunch of... uh."

Lance Bass raised his hands and smiled. "I will let you guys talk to one another," he said, and backed away. "Nice meeting you."

"I didn't mean—damn," said Drake. "I was rude. Was I rude? I didn't mean him, I meant the boring guys in the suits. He's way better looking when you actually meet him, isn't he?"

"Oh, baby, you have been away from me for way too long," Adam said. "Think we can sneak out now?"

* * *

"They were not _manufactured!_ They really sang, all of them!" Katy was pink with indignation. It looked good on her, Kris thought. But then, he was pretty sure anything looked good on Katy. "Anyway, I thought you liked Justin Timberlake!"

"Psst—sweetie? I think that's just 'cause Adam thinks he's hot," said Kris in a mock-whisper.

"Well, and he can sing! Adam wouldn't like him if he couldn't sing!" Katy was not quite getting the idea that guys could lust after people for all kinds of reasons, and talent didn't have to be one of them.

"Okay, okay, I give! I believe you!" Adam had his hands up and was laughing, but Katy wasn't convinced.

"When I get home," she said, "I'm gonna send you proof. Just you wait. If we had time I'd do it now, but the car will be here any second."

"Yeah," said Adam. "And that means, I'm gonna say goodbye now and leave two you alone until it gets here." He got up, hugged Katy, and headed for the door.

Kris wrapped his arms around his wife. "I'm going to miss you so bad," he murmured.

"Me, too. But you'll call."

"Every night," he promised.

"And I will email with those songs," she said, determined. There was nothing quite like a fan whose idol—hah—had been dissed. Adam was in for a hard time.

And then the car was there, and she was gone until September second, Rosemont, Illinois.

* * *

The email didn't come through until three days later, but Kris, very much amused, showed Adam the links, made him promise to listen to all of them (because he wasn't going to lie to Katy, and she'd been very insistent), and being a true friend, sat with him while he did. Turned out, it wasn't painful at all. Katy had sent not song files but YouTube links of some acappella numbers. The video and sound quality on the first one were a bit scratchy, and Adam squawked with laughter at the sight of a very young Timberlake with a ridiculous mass of curly hair, but had to admit, it sounded like they could sing without Autotune. Then a version of _O Holy Night_ , a BeeGees set, and a concert performance with Tim McGraw. Tim McGraw!

"So. Okay." Adam looked thoughtful. "Bass isn't exactly a solo singer, though, is he." Kris looked at him. "Oh, don't give me the puppydog eyes! He can sing. You can tell Katy I said so."

"My wife knows everything," Kris said contentedly, leaning back on the couch. "Did Perez Hilton ever actually run that story?"

"Don't think so. Must not be as stupid as we thought."

"What was the name of the song? The one Lance said you were going to sing together?"

" _Flower_. By... huh. I don't remember. Liz somebody. You know it?"

Kris shook his head, and, without much expectation, typed _Flower, Liz_ into Google. "Oh, hey. Lyrics." He clicked the link, and read...

"Kris?" Adam snapped his fingers. "Kris? What did you find? You have animé eyes."

"Uh. See for yourself." _I want to fuck you like a dog._ Not exactly what he'd been expecting.

Adam hauled the laptop across. "What did you—" He stared at the screen, then he looked back at Kris, and howled with laughter.

* * *

 **Viscaria  
 _Will you dance with me?_**

September 15th, and those damn papers ought to be here by now. Lisa was chasing them up, but Lance was already feeling doubtful. Why have a business relationship with someone who wasn't proving to be very businesslike?

He snatched up his cellphone as soon as it started to ring. "Hey, babe, did you get it?"

 _Yeah, thanks, I got plenty. I think we should record together._

Lance stared at his cell in amazement. "Uh. Who is this?"

 _You don't remember me? I'm heartbroken. We met after the Idol show on Long Island. Adam Lambert. I think you and me should record that song together._

"What? What song?" Actually, he did remember, he remembered very well, but this was still bewildering.

 _I didn't notice at the time because I didn't know the song, but you had such a great idea, that we should record Liz Phair's **Flower** together. So, let's do it._

"Okay, this is a joke, right?" Maybe some radio station somewhere was recording this for laughs.

 _Come on, I don't play jokes on people unless I know them really well. Look, it's a cool song, and I know you can sing. So how about it?_

"I'm not really, I don't, I have a project here in New York. I'm not looking to record anything, I don't have time. Besides, aren't you doing your own album?"

 _Maybe I should come see you. We can talk about this._

Lance considered. This was bizarre beyond words. Obviously it would be completely impossible for him to record something with Adam Lambert. Adam's record company would never allow it. And even if they did, which they wouldn't, Flower? No way. Absolutely no way.

But, if Adam Lambert wanted to try to persuade him, what the hell, why not?

"I'm having some people over for brunch Sunday. If you wanna show up early, say, eleven thirty, I'll listen." He hung up. If Adam Lambert could get ahold of Lance Bass's private number, he could find out where Lance was living. He had five days. Not that Lance expected him to show up. He couldn't possibly be serious.

* * *

Lance Bass's face, as he let Adam into his Manhattan apartment at precisely eleven thirty on Sunday morning, was completely bland. Not a trace of surprise, even, and he had to be at least a little bit surprised that Adam had managed to find out where he lived, didn't he? Not that it had been Adam's doing, he'd just told his PR manager that he needed to go see Lance Bass, and Sheilagh had done the footwork. Sheilagh knew people.

"Come on through. I'm not quite done yet." Bass led the way into his kitchen.

That was a surprise. There were piles of food all over every surface and piles of pans in the sink. Looked like Bass did his own cooking. Adam had assumed he'd have it catered.

"Here, grab a seat." Bass gestured towards one of the tall stools. "Let me get you a drink. You want a mimosa? Or there's coffee, or orange juice."

"Mimosa, thanks," Adam said, settling himself onto the stool. He never ate much breakfast, this stuff looked good, and the kitchen smelled very appetizing. He sipped at his drink and admired the view as Bass bent over the oven and inspected a tray of something. "So." He'd done his research and he was pretty damn sure he could overcome whatever opposition there might be. Just as he was about to get started, his cellphone chirped. "Sorry, excuse me."

HOW R U DOING? It was from Kris.

I SHALL PREVAIL, he texted back.

SOON?

ILL LET U NO.

He _would_ prevail. He wanted to do this. This was going to happen.

"Did you enjoy the tour?"

"The tour? Yeah, it was amazing. I love performing live. You get such energy out of the crowd."

"Yeah."

"It was pretty intense, though. We mostly played five or six nights out of seven, and with all the traveling it was kinda grueling."

"So do you get a rest now? Here, want one?"

Bass was offering him a platter of tiny bomb-shaped things. "Er. What is that?"

"Prunes wrapped in bacon."

"Oh. No thanks." Prunes? Ew.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry, I forgot. Uh. There's some smoked salmon on that platter in the corner, if you want, or there's plenty of pastries. Lots of stuff, really. Uh."

"I'm fine. Really." Bass was slightly flushed, and Adam realized he was embarrassed at offering bacon to the Jewish boy. He clamped his jaws down on the grin that wanted to form. "Anyway, tour's over now, so here I am."

"How's the album going?"

"It's going great. I'm having such an amazing time with it. But we have more work to do on the writing before we can record anything more." He grinned. "Whereas the song I want you and me to work on is all written and ready."

"I don't even get why—"

"See, I'm not talking about including _Flower_ on my album. It wouldn't fit, not the way I want to do it. I was thinking of a web-only release, something viral, you know?"

"And the RCA suits think this is a good idea?"

They hadn't, but Adam had already gotten Sheilagh on his side, and the two of them had been unstoppable. Pity she wasn't here now, but he couldn't exactly invite her along when he was only here on sufferance himself. But they'd worked out exactly what buttons they should be able to push to make this happen. "They do. A little publicity to keep things hot while the album gets made."

"Seriously? Your record company would actually go for this?"

"Sure. I wouldn't be doing it otherwise. I mean, I like my balls right where they are. They won't be officially involved, but they've okayed the idea."

Bass closed his eyes, and sighed. "So who pays for the recording?"

"Me," said Adam, firmly.

"Oh, man," said Lance Bass, and ran a hand through his spiky hair. "I don't know."

"What do you have to lose?"

"I just. I don't."

The entry chime sounded.

"That'll be Lisa," said Bass, with enormous relief.

Fuck it, thought Adam, I had him, I had him! But the moment was gone, so he downed the rest of his drink and waited for Bass to return.

A short, chubby girl bounced into the room and gave him a huge smile. "Hi! I'm Lisa, pleased to meet you! I'm glad you found the place okay."

"She's my assistant," said a voice from the doorway. "And, apparently, a spy in the camp."

"Hey, you invited him, didn't you? Of course I told him where you live. Well, I told Sheilagh, but it's the same thing. You wouldn't want a guest wandering around New York all morning, would you? See, I'm a very efficient assistant," she told Adam, and winked.

Bass glowered at her. Lisa beamed at him. Adam watched, amused and strongly inclined to like her.

"Efficient, hah. You were invited for noon, you're early."

"Only five minutes," Lisa said insouciantly. "I wanted to get one of those cheesy things while they're hot, and I know you, you'll be getting them out the oven any second now, and they're just not the same when they've cooled down."

"You," said Lance Bass, "are a pest. And a mooch." Then the oven timer began to ping. Lisa and Adam grinned at one another as Bass, muttering, got the trays out, and carefully slid a pastry onto a plate and handed it to Lisa. "You want one? It's just cheese and herbs in filo pastry. Or those ones there have mushrooms."

"I should really be going," said Adam, sliding reluctantly off his stool. It was obvious their conversation was over. "You've got guests coming,"

"You're not staying?" Bass sounded mildly scandalized. "I thought you were coming for brunch. I mean, you came across town, least I can do is feed you."

"No, really, it's fine. I wasn't fishing for an invitation."

Now he looked almost pained. "You can't come to my house and not eat something. My momma, and my mimi, and my grandma and all their mothers and grandmothers would rise up in wrath or something. Please. Unless—I mean, if you keep kosher, there's a deli on the next block, I could—"

"No, no, this is fine," said Adam, trying not to laugh as he accepted the hot pastry.

"Good," said Lisa, through a mouthful. "He was going to send me out to get stuff."

"Why d'you think I have an assistant?" said Bass, refilling Adam's glass from the mimosa pitcher. "Oh, somebody else arriving. Excuse me."

 

Once the first guests started to arrive, the entry chime was in action pretty much constantly, and Adam had no chance of saying anything at all to Lance Bass. There was enough food for every gay man in New York City to show up, but there wasn't that much of a crowd, around two dozen, Adam thought, and not all of them pretty boys, though there were a handful of really cute ones, and the most adorable of the lot—whose name seemed to be Piper—was showing definite signs of interest, so things were looking up. Things with Drake were a bit sticky at the moment, and with a continent between them there wasn't much chance of getting it sorted out. A pretty boy with willing eyes was just what he needed right now.

Lisa plied him with food and drink and introduced him to people. Adam flirted lightheartedly with anyone who wanted to flirt back, accepted the praise of most of the guests and shrugged off the _oh, I never watch reality television_ of two who obviously knew exactly who he was and were trying to make themselves out to be superior, and realized he was having a good time. He would wait until Bass was mellowed by partying and lots of mimosas, and give it another shot.

"Everything okay?" Here was Bass now, urging everyone back to the kitchen for more food. Then he looked up and past Adam's shoulder, and his face lit up with a smile that made him look like a happy teenager. "Fatone! You're late!"

"Some people are never satisfied," whispered Lisa, and Adam snickered behind his mimosa as he turned to see Bass being engulfed by the large embrace of someone who looked almost familiar... from the YouTube stuff, of course, that was the big one who wasn't Justin. Put on a bit of weight since those days.

"I found someone wandering the streets, so I brought him along," Fatone was explaining, and there was another excited cry from Lance Bass, and another full-body hug, this time with a short, stocky guy with dark hair and beard and a laugh like a machine-gun. He looked familiar, too, but Adam couldn't remember his name. Lisa had abandoned him to go and be hugged by the new arrivals, so Adam took his plate back to the kitchen. The food was seriously good, and he'd also happened to notice Piper heading in there just a minute ago.

 

Adam was—slightly guiltily—making his third trip back for yet more smoked salmon, because it was too delicious to resist, when he bumped, literally, into the stocky guy with the laugh.

"Oh, hey," said the guy. "Haven't seen you at Lance's parties before, do I know you?" He narrowed his eyes and examined Adam interestedly, but seemed to conclude that no, he didn't.

"You're Adam Lambert, aren't you," said a new voice. "Congratulations on making the finals. I'm Joey Fatone." They shook hands. "And this is Chris Kirkpatrick."

"Finals of what?" said Chris Kirkpatrick, juggling plate and bottle (he had, mysteriously, acquired beer) to offer a hand.

" _American Idol_ , dumbass," said Joey. "Don't tell me you didn't watch it."

"Nope," said Chris. "Except for Bikini Girl, saw that on YouTube. I'm guessing you lost, since Joe didn't say anything about winning."

"Nothing wrong with coming second," said Joey.

"I bet Kelly doesn't think so," said Chris. He snapped his fingers. "Hah! Knew I recognized you from somewhere. _Rolling Stone_ , right? So you've joined Lance's gay mafia now?"

"Ah, I don't think so," Adam said, because really. No. "Strictly speaking I'm here on business, I just couldn't escape until I'd eaten."

"He's from Mississippi," said Joey, who apparently thought that explained... something.

"Business?" Chris looked at him with interest. "What kind of business?"

"Ignore him," said Joey. "We never could teach him manners."

"No, it's fine," Adam said. Maybe these two could help him out. "I want Lance to record something with me, but I don't think I persuaded him yet."

"Really?" Joey looked surprised, but not hostile to the idea. "What do you have in mind? I mean, Lance likes those eighties power ballads and stuff, but he hasn't really done anything like that except at karaoke."

"Liz Phair's _Flower_ ," said Adam.

"Awesome!" There was the machine-gun laugh again.

"Interesting choice," said Joey, sounding doubtful. "It's not exactly your trademark sound, is it? I mean, there's not a lot of scope for, um, interpretation."

"I think I can do something with it," said Adam, grinning. "Besides, it wasn't my idea. Lance suggested it."

"Really?" said Chris, sounding absolutely enchanted. "Hey, Bass, get your ass in here!"

"Did we run out of something? What's wrong?"

"So how come you haven't given this guy an answer yet?"

Bass looked cornered. Adam felt a tiny bit guilty about that, but not enough to let him off the hook.

"I haven't exactly—"

"It's about time you got back in a recording studio," said Joey, helping himself to more of the evil prune things.

"Oh, like you can talk!"

"But we're not talking about me. We're talking about you—" he prodded Bass in the ribs, "being offered a chance to record with a hot new artist and apparently not saying yes."

"Particularly," said Chris, "when it was your idea."

"It was not my idea!"

"You did suggest the song," Adam reminded him. "I'd never even heard it before."

"You didn't have Chris Kirkpatrick doing his best to corrupt you when you were sixteen," said Bass, testily. "But I didn't—you know I wasn't serious. I just, it seemed like, it was just an impulse."

"Meaning," said Joey Fatone, "that you had a million really good reasons at the time and you don't want to admit to them now." Bass sent him a glare that would have shriveled a buffalo. Joey, unshriveled, calmly ate another prune thing. "Anyway, here's Adam Lambert asking you to record with him, so why not?"

"It's not like we can just step into somebody's garage and make a record," said Bass. "There'd be a lot to arrange. Studio time, and a producer we could agree on, and who exactly pays for what—look, I know you said you'd pay, but that's ridiculous. And I don't even know why you want to do this, it's not part of your album, it's not part of your image, so what is it for?"

"It's," said Adam, and hesitated. How to explain without sounding like an idiot? Because there wasn't a commercial reason for this, not at all, even if he had managed to convince first Sheilagh and then the suits that it would be great publicity. It was just that he'd got that song permanently looping in his brain, despite the frantic rush and adrenalin of the past few weeks on tour he could hear it so clearly, his own voice and the mellow octave-down echo, and it was crazy, it was unnecessary, it was irrelevant, but it was awesome and he passionately wanted to make it happen. How did he convince Lance Bass that it had to be done? "It's... I don't know how to explain. I listened to the song, and I love it. It's stuck in my head. You're right, it's not my style at all, that's why I had to work things out with my PR manager and the record company and figure out a way we could do this. It's right here," he tapped his temple, "the way it ought to be, and I need you to sing it with me. It's, kinda, symbolic? Two completely different gay guys, you see? I mean, you're right, it might even be a crazy thing to do, but I. I really want to do this song."

"Oh, man," said Bass, and it sounded like Adam might just have persuaded him. "I just. I don't know. We'd have to—Chris? What are you doing?"

Chris Kirkpatrick held up his cellphone to his ear and made eloquent 'quiet, now' gestures with the other. "Hi," he said. "It's me. In New York, I crashed Lance's brunch party. Hey, do I sound like I care? It's time you were out of bed, anyway. Listen, I got a producing gig for you." He paused. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. It's Lance. Yeah, seriously. He's going to record with Adam Lambert, and guess what? Liz Phair's _Flower_. I know! So, you up for it?"

"I am going to strangle you." Bass, in a furious whisper. "Is that—?"

"JC? Yeah. I'll pass you over now," said Chris Kirkpatrick, and handed the cell to Adam, who was a bit taken aback, but offered a cautious hello to whoever was on the other end.

 _Hi, Adam, I'm JC Chasez and I think it's awesome that you're going to do this with Lance, do you really want me to produce for you, I think you should because I know Lance's voice and I know he can do more than he thinks he can and besides, what a great song, I'm thinking you want it kinda angry, not monotone like the original, build up the emotion and get it really hot, I mean, smoking, we can do a whole lot with it, I think it'll sound amazing, you have a great voice, I saw you on Idol—_ JC had remarkable breath control, Adam thought, wondering if he'd ever get the chance to speak. He wasn't sure about this new development, working with one of Lance Bass's sometime boybandmates hadn't been part of the plan. On the other hand, JC seemed to have the same handle on the song that he did himself, so maybe it was doable. And JC was suggesting they go out to LA to record in JC's own private studio, which would simplify matters, and while Adam was out there he could spend some time with Drake, which was long overdue.

He handed the phone over to Bass, who said _Hi_ , and _But_ and _Are you sure?_ and, eventually, _Yeah, okay_ , and disconnected. "All right," he said. "I'll do it. So long as we get JC to produce."

"Done," Adam said instantly, and they shook on it. Bass looked as though he'd just signed up for one of those Japanese reality shows where you got to stick your head in a tank of cockroaches, but Adam wasn't asking him to look happy about it, just to say yes.

"I think that calls for another drink," said Chris, so Joey popped open a fresh bottle of champagne and they didn't bother with the orange juice. Bass drained his glass, muttered something about having other guests, and fled the kitchen.

"Dude," said Joey, "you're still an evil genius."

"He never could say no to JC," said Chris, grinning. "It's a good deal, though, seriously. 'C knows what he's doing."

Adam was too pleased to argue the point. He'd have time to find out a bit more about Chasez as a producer. "Thanks, guys," he said, happily. "I really want to do this." And, however bizarre it was, even to Adam, he really wanted Lance Bass to do it with him.

"It's about time for Lance to do something crazy again," Chris said. "But you'd better be serious about this. If you make him look like a tool, you're gonna regret it."

"Yeah, that bit about 'two completely different gay guys'? He has to deal with that a lot, so don't fuck him up," said Joey.

"I'm not gonna—I am taking this seriously. If Lance looks like a tool doing it, then so do I, okay? But we won't."

The two of them exchanged glances.

"Okay," they said in unison.

 

Unsettled by the sudden change of atmosphere in the kitchen, Adam snagged the last of the cheese pastries (Lisa was right, they were better hot) and wandered back to the living room. Most of the guests seemed to have figured that brunch was over now, at, woah, five pm, but he was heartened to see that Piper was still hanging around chatting with Lisa and another brunette Adam recognized from somewhere.

"So, um," said Piper, as Adam insinuated himself into the small space on the couch next to him. "You and Lance—are you—?"

"No!" said Adam.

"God, no!" came a deep and unflatteringly horrified voice from behind him.

"You're not?" Piper looked surprised.

"Absolutely not," said Lance Bass. "Purely a business arrangement. Besides, I met his boyfriend."

"Not boyfriend," Adam said calmly, "we're dating, we're not exclusive. So," he put his arm around Piper's shoulders, "you can take me back to your place with a clear conscience."

* * *

 **Angelica  
 _inspiration_**

Lance had not expected to be the odd one out in JC's house. He should have known, he told himself, sourly. He should have known that the two of them would get along like long-lost twins. Apparently they had been 'bonding' over the phone while he had been getting on with his actual work, and when Adam arrived, JC had greeted him with cries of rapture. Their excitement now they were actually in the same room was running at fever pitch, and the decibel level in here was getting dangerous.

It was fucking irritating. The fact that Lance felt like a sucker had already put him into a bad mood—which he was doing his best not to reveal—and the sound of the two of them finishing each other's sentences was just too fucking much. Added to that, it turned out they weren't going to record this thing at all how Lance had expected. He'd assumed—yeah, that was dumb—he'd be singing the lower line, the monotonous bit, and Adam would sing the high, more melodious part. Turned out, Adam was going to do both, and just wanted Lance to sing the monotonous bit an octave down. Which he could do, sure, but he could have done it back in New York and emailed the file. Instead Lance had let himself be persuaded by Adam's sincerity (and Chris's interference, but mostly Adam), and allowed himself to be caught up in JC's excitement, and Lisa's, and actually flown back to California for, what, a half-hour in the studio that was probably going to be semi-audible on the finished song, just like always. It wasn't going to take him long, not even JC's perfectionism could get much of a hold on this.

"It's good to see you back in the studio," JC said, startling Lance out of his thoughts. Damn JC for his endearing smile. Lance could feel himself smiling back, and knew that he was going to forgive JC for this whole stupid endeavor, because he always did. He should stop doing that, Lance thought.

"I've been in plenty of studios," he replied. Not completely true, 'plenty' was a bit of an exaggeration, but he'd done enough session work over the past few years not to have forgotten how to do this. He hadn't been in JC's own studio before, though, and he was impressed—it was a whole lot bigger and more comprehensive than Chris's, but then, he'd expected JC to have the latest everything in here. JC never scrimped on music stuff.

Adam, it was decided, would go first, and of course it took a while to get everything set up, so Lance fitted himself into the chair in the corner, ignored what was coming through JC's spare headphones, and got out his cellphone. Might as well catch up on his emails.

But communications from Wendy about pre-production meetings and from Lisa about his schedule and from Tommy and Joe about the New York set-up and from Stacey about Leighton and the boys didn't hold his attention once Adam started on the song. It was. It was. It was not what he'd expected at all.

Fuck.

They couldn't be expecting Lance to do that? Could they? Surely they'd just want him for balance, just a straightforward bass line singing the tune, such as it was, all, what, five notes of it? They wouldn't want him to sing something so fierce, so aggressive, so furiously sexual? They knew—JC knew, surely, surely Adam knew that Lance wasn't a solo singer, not like that, he couldn't do it like that?

His stomach felt full of knotted snakes. He might not know Adam but he knew JC, and he was beginning to be certain that JC would want him to do it exactly like that. And he didn't know how. He was going to make a complete ass of himself in front of Adam Lambert. Shit, shit.

CALL ME PLS!!! VV URGENT He sent the text, and prayed.

JC and Adam were conferring together, nodding over tiny improvements that might be made. Adam seemed to be encouraging JC's obsessive tendencies, and obediently sang again and again until both of them seemed to be happy with what they'd got. Lance would have been happy with the first take, which was probably why he wasn't a music producer. Or a solo singer. Fuck.

He went outside to warm up. Come on, Joe, come on. Call me.

All too soon, JC's voice summoned him back inside. And, blessedly, at that instant, the ringtone started up.

"Sorry, 'C, I gotta take this," he mumbled, and JC sighed at him in exasperation (because Lance had only been kept waiting for hours already, and JC was going to have to wait for, oh, five minutes now) and went back inside.

He had so much to say to Joey, a tumble of words inside his head, but all that came out was, "Oh, God!"

 _Oh, man, what's up?_

"Joey, I—I need help. I need, like, an emergency. I can't do this."

 _Sure you can. What is it?_

"This fucking song! I can't do it like they want me to!"

 _The thing with JC and Adam Lambert? What's so hard about it?_

"It's not like I thought it'd be. I can't sing it like Adam sings it."

 _He doesn't want you to sing it like he sings it. He wants you to sing it like you sing it._ Joey's voice was entirely too calm and reasonable when the situation called for panic. _Otherwise he'd just have gotten a producer to repitch his own voice._

"Yeah, but he was amazing, all growly and, and I have to do it, like, angry, and I don't even know how to do that. How do you sing angry?"

 _You just—_ Joey sighed. Lance couldn't blame him. It was a lot to ask—teach me how to sing in a completely different style, right now. _Can't you, like, think about something or somebody that makes you angry, and sing it at them? Sing it like you're telling them how angry you are—like they're in the room with you?_

He wouldn't even need to imagine, Lance thought, darkly. "I, but. I'd feel stupid. It'd just sound dumb."

 _Not if you do it with everything you got. You have to forget about looking dumb and do it anyway, do it like you really mean it. Throw everything into it. Take it all the way. Trust JC, he'll tell you if you go too far, he'll pull it back for you if that's what it needs._

"I know what it needs." He knew what it needed. He'd heard Adam, he knew exactly how he ought to do it. He just didn't know if he could.

 _So, then you can do it. You do this all the time, you take on stuff nobody thinks you can do, and you do it. You did acting classes, you did a Broadway show, you can do this._

"That was easy," Lance protested. "I mean, I just had to look like I was having fun. This is like—"

 _No. No arguments. You do it._

"I just... I hate feeling stupid. I can't, like..." bare my soul, he thought, but didn't want to say it because how melodramatic was that?

 _I know, but trust me, you can. I know you never did it before, and nobody pushed you because it wasn't what we needed you to do, but you can do it if you want to._ Joey paused. _You just gotta commit. It only looks stupid if you hold back. Do you get what I'm saying?_

Lance heaved in a breath. "Yeah. I. Guess."

 _Then get in there, and don't hold back._

"I'll try."

 _There is no try!_

Lance disconnected, and snarled at his phone in frustration. Shit. No escape. He went slowly inside, and down the stairs. "Sorry," he said briefly. The two of them looked up at him in surprise, as though they'd forgotten he was there.

"Right," said JC. "So, okay, Lance, this is what I want you to do—"

"Look, JC," Lance interrupted, "can I just do it like I want to do it? At least the first time?"

"I... guess." JC looked confused. He probably didn't expect Lance to have any input. Lance had always been willing to do just as he was told in the studio before, but Lance had a strong feeling that if JC came up with a list of precise requirements for exactly how he was to hit each syllable, he'd never manage it. They could be here for years.

"Gimme a few minutes, I need to, uh, get it clear in my head," he said, feeling extremely foolish. But he couldn't just go straight in there and do it, not when the song he'd been practicing before had been easy and expressionless.

"You want a drink of water? JC?" Adam suggested, brightly. He was all pleased with himself. He hadn't had any problem with the fucking song.

"Please," Lance said. At least it'd get him out of the room for a few minutes.

"I'll, um, you won't be able to find stuff," said JC, getting out of his chair.

"I'm sure I can find your kitchen, JC. And the refrigerator."

"No, but, there's—I keep the—I'll come show you." And mercifully, the two of them cleared out, leaving Lance with his lyric sheet and the stubby pencil he'd brought for notes.

Who was he angry at? Stupid business partners, he thought, who didn't do what they said they would. Russians. Asshole comedians. Perez Hilton. Reichen Lehmkuhl. Jesse. Justin, for being Justin. JC Chasez, nitpicking record producer.

Adam Fucking Lambert.

Okay. He scanned through the lyrics again, though he knew them by heart, and scrawled the names where he needed them, where he needed to remind himself to feel rage or bitterness or some other flavor of angry. Commit, he told himself, and felt kinda sick. What if it came out sounding dumb anyway? He thought it worked, the new version in his head, but...

JC and Adam came back down the stairs, and Adam offered him a bottle of Evian. Lance took it with automatic thanks, put it straight down without noticing, then headed for the microphone. Headphones on. Listened to the track once, trying to hear his own voice with the intonations it needed to hold. Looked up at JC to signal him to cue it up again, and caught sight of Adam Lambert smirking at him.

Fuck you, he thought, and sang.

 

That... actually felt like it went well. Lance took a deep breath and raised his eyes. Adam Fucking Lambert was still smirking at him, but JC had producer-face and was nodding his head. "That was good, Lance, that was great, next time can you get a bit more, like, venom in the second verse, and build it even bigger at the end?"

Here we go, Lance thought. Years. But he thought maybe he could do it again better, so he did.

 

It was better, even better, than the first time, and he really hoped JC would just let it go at that, but of course JC couldn't make it easy, there had to be dozens of micro-adjustments before he would let Lance get out of here. Sometimes he didn't even bother to discuss them with Lance, only with Adam, and Lance would stand there with a fuzzy noise coming through his cans and the two of them enthusing at one another over some detail that could be perfected. The trouble was, the longer this went on, the more Lance could feel his hold on the song slipping away. He was pretty sure it was actually getting worse, and JC was all frowny and frustrated.

"Can I make a suggestion?" Adam said, mercifully to both of them. "I think we should sing it at one another."

"Uh..." said Lance, uncertainly.

"Just to get the feeling that we're fighting as we sing. I think if we get up in each other's faces we can get that hostility back again."

"Sure," JC said, eagerly. "Go for it."

He played the bare, minimal backing track through the speakers, and the two of them stood there, a yard apart, singing the fucking song at each other, and Lance had never felt so ridiculous.

JC stopped the track. "Lance," he said, sternly. "Don't hold back, you don't have to. You're not singing with Justin here. Adam has a big voice, you don't need to keep it low power, just let it out. Hit it hard."

Yeah, Lance thought, because it's just that easy. But he was damned if he was going to let Adam Lambert laugh at him again, so he filled his lungs and said, right, and this time he sang it hard, he sang it like a weapon, glaring up into Adam's eyes and hurling out the words point blank, _fuck you, I'll make you like it._

Then it was done, and he was suddenly exhausted. I'm never going to do solo stuff, he thought to himself. Not if they have to do this all the time. Pulling out emotions and throwing them at the music, it was too much.

"You got a lot of voice there," Adam said, and was that grudging admiration? Surely not.

"Yeah!" said JC, almost whooped, in fact. "That was fantastic! You guys wanna hear how it sounded?"

So they listened to it, and after that, Lance thought he could try it one more time because he was still feeling the rage, and this time it came out perfect.

 

"Are you sure you don't wanna take another shot?" JC sounded more disbelieving than disappointed, which Lance figured meant it was fine.

"Is there something you want me to change, 'C?" he asked, and drained the last drops of Evian with relief. He'd never felt so shattered in the studio before, not even after one of the marathon sessions.

"Nnnn-o-o-o," JC admitted reluctantly. "But, you know."

"No, then." JC would do a thousand takes, if a producer was fool enough to let him. Lance wasn't willing to do that. He was done. He felt better, a lot better, because he knew he'd gotten it right. JC could use what he'd got, and Lance was going to take Wendy out to dinner, far, far away from here, and talk about his nice, familiar business.

"I'm gonna want to do mine again," said Adam.

"You don't need me around for that," Lance said quickly. "I should get over to see Wendy. I'm done here, right, 'C?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, almost," said JC. "All I need from you now is sex noises."

 _"What?"_

Adam Lambert burst out laughing, an annoyingly rich belly laugh, seized JC by the ears and kissed him right between the eyes. "Sex noises! JC, I love you! You are a genius."

JC backed up a bit but grinned enthusiastically. "Yeah. Just background, you know, but it'll be really cool. We want some really happy noises, like, moaning, and some grunting and, you know, _uh, uh_. Just like you were fucking."

"You want me to make... sex noises." In front of you and Wonder Boy here. Not going to happen. "No."

Two pairs of beautiful, sea-coloured eyes looked at him like he'd just killed their puppy.

"But," JC began.

"Absolutely not." Nobody had said anything about sex noises. JC seemed to realize that it was game over. He still looked pathetically disappointed, but Lance was not giving in, not this time.

"You would make such great noises." Adam didn't appear to recognize a flat veto when he heard one. "All deep and dark and sexy, grarrrr! Don't say no! This song is going to be so, so awesome, let's make it perfect, yeah? It won't be right with just my voice in the background, we need your bass. Please?"

And Lance felt his resolution sliding. God damn it, he thought, how does he do that? I didn't even want to be here in the first place, and now... "Oh, for fuck's sake," he said.

*

"Is JC out?" Adam asked curiously as their distracted host checked his files just one more time. "I don't wanna say the wrong thing."

"JC? He's not gay."

"Really? But he's all..."

"Oh, yeah, he does that. Music turns him on."

Adam looked at him suspiciously, but Bass didn't seem to be joking. "Did he get hard on stage?"

"Oh, yes."

"So... didn't it get kinda embarrassing with all those thirteen-year-old girls watching?" Adam knew the feeling, but he was generally playing to a more mature audience.

"I think the girls who were old enough to notice were also old enough to appreciate it," Bass said. "Google 'JC Chasez, happy pants'. You'll see."

"And he's—just enjoying the music, right now?"

"I think music and sex are pretty much different places on the same spectrum for JC."

"Huh. Interesting. Maybe we should write something together."

"Hoo, boy," said Bass, and laughed, but didn't explain what he meant. Ah, screw him. It could be cool, writing with JC. Adam had looked him up on Wikipedia and talked to a few people—he couldn't rely on Katy for all his info—and his solo album was a blast. Plus, they were totally on the same wavelength with _Flower_ , which was going to be the awesomest thing ever. Well, until the album was done.

"JC, I am not doing any more grunting. If you haven't got the perfect orgasm noise, do it yourself. I'm leaving."

JC emerged for a quick hug. "Fucker. You know, if you get horny later, you could always tape—no, okay, okay. We're good."

Bass rolled his eyes, but grinned. "You just go put it all together and make it sound like some crazy orgy, or whatever it is you're gonna do." He held out a hand to Adam. "Thanks for asking me to do this. I hope it turns out okay."

"Thank you," said Adam, promptly. "You did a great job."

"Give me a heads up when you're leaking it, okay? We don't want to get our stories crossed." And he left.

Adam turned to JC. "You got some sounds you can use, right? I wasn't so convinced by the sex noises."

"I can use them. Have to do some tweaking. I don't think it was exactly Lance's thing, you know?"

"Maybe he just has a boring sex life," Adam suggested.

"I wouldn't know about that," said JC, primly, then looked at Adam with a frown. "So, you and Lance, you're not—"

"No, we're not!" Really, why did everybody assume he was fucking Lance Bass?

"No, I guess you wouldn't shake hands if you were. Huh. Lance does all kinds of crazy stuff for his friends. But I really didn't think we'd get any kind of sex noises, not after he said no, usually when Lance says no, that's it. He was always the final word, you know, on all the business decisions for the group, and when Lance said enough, we stopped."

Adam was surprised. He didn't get the impression of Bass as an authority figure. Anyway, it didn't matter. "I wanna re-record my track, before we get on to the countermelody. I think I can do more, now I have the bass line to work with."

"Let's get to it," said JC, eagerly.

* * *

 _So, how'd it go?_

"Hey, Joey. How did what go?"

 _The recording session, what else?_

"Oh, yeah. Good. It was good."

 _You managed to sing angry?_

"Yeah."

 _Told you. There is no try. What was he like to work with?_

"JC? Surprisingly—"

 _Hey, none of that. Adam Lambert, what was he like? Did you enjoy it?_

"We sang together, Joey, you make it sound like we did something dirty."

 _I bet you don't wanna play your grandma that song,_ Joey said, evilly.

"Oh, God. JC had us make... never mind. But I think it's going to be good."

 _And Adam?_

"What about Adam?"

 _How did you get along?_

"Fine. He's very professional."

 _Is that it?_

"What else is there?" Lance kept his tone light and indifferent, hoping that for once in his life Joey Fatone would take the hint, but no.

 _The way I see it, he's just your type, tall, dark and handsome, and gay. So...?_

"He's really not my type," Lance insisted. But Joey knew him well, and just laughed. "Okay, he's good-looking, but, you know. We're a lot different. He wears dresses!" Lance knew that wasn't entirely fair, but there were pictures.

 _You look good in a dress, remember?_

"I thought we were trying to erase that from our minds?"

 _I'm just saying. Adam Lambert, hot guy. Surely you've thought about it?_

Attack was the best form of defense. Lance deepened his voice. "Think very carefully, Joe. Do you really want to know about my sex fantasies?"

There was a long pause. _Briahna really loves that book you sent her,_ Joey said eventually.

"Horton rocks." Lance smirked. "Is she reading it on her own?" He didn't think he'd have any more nonsense from Joey.

* * *

 **Purple Carnation  
 _capricious, whimsical, changeable_**

"So, how are you?"

 _Oh. You know. Fine, really. Busy._

"Okay, that sounds terrible. Come on, tell Uncle Kris all about it."

 _It's just that, I don't know, I thought Drake was going to stick around for longer. I mean, sure, I was touring, but he knew that, and he came to visit and I thought he was okay with it, and I thought he was okay with us not being exclusive, it didn't seem any more fair to him than to me._

"Because he got just as many guys coming on to him as you did, right?"

 _I—no, but, you know what, he probably had more time to go out looking!_ Kris's mouth twitched. Right. _And then he said it's all or nothing, and so..._

"And you went for nothing," Kris said.

 _I wasn't ready to commit to Drake that way. He knew that, at least I thought he did. I couldn't lie to him, I wouldn't do that._

"It seems like you did the right thing. You wouldn't want to be in a relationship that felt wrong."

 _I just don't seem to be able to get it right._ But Kris thought he sounded as much puzzled as miserable, so maybe things weren't quite so bad after all.

"Maybe he was just your rebound guy. You aren't supposed to stick with your rebound girl, guy, whoever. Now you can start again."

 _See, I don't really buy that. I don't see why the relationship right after a breakup should automatically be doomed. I mean, if that's true, all relationships would be doomed, wouldn't they, except your first love._

Kris, who had married his first love, could see the justice in that. "But it was your choice, wasn't it? You chose to break up with him."

 _Yeah._

"So he wasn't right for you."

Adam sighed. _No, I guess. But what if that wasn't true? What if I just made the wrong call?_

"Do you think you made the wrong call?"

 _...No._

"There you go, then."

 _You know, Uncle Kris is supposed to be a lot more sympathetic than this!_

"Tough love, baby. It's what all the coolest uncles are into these days."

 _Well, my favorite uncle was the one who used to sneak me candy when I was little and cash when I was a teenager, so I think you've got a ways to go._ He paused. _I guess... it's not really Drake I'm missing, it's not like we got to spend that much time together anyway. It's, it's having someone. Ah, hell, let's talk about something else._

"Tell me how the album's going," Kris said before Adam could ask him the same thing. Because he had a notion that Adam's mood wasn't just caused by the breakup, and hearing about Kris's completely problem-free life might not help a whole lot.

And that was Adam's rueful laugh. _Yeah, you know how I told you there'd been some changes among the suits at RCA? Turns out some of them are a bit wary of me doing the music I want to do. There's been all kinds of talk about how I should tone it down, make it a bit more respectable, bit more mainstream, whatever. It's so fucking stupid, it makes me crazy._

Kris shook his head in disbelief. "So... not going so well, huh?"

 _Most of it is going great. I've been working with these amazing people, so much of what we're doing is exactly what I wanted to do. Then the fucking suits come around and whine about needing something commercial for the single, which I get, I really do, but you know._

"They really don't know what they've got, do they." It wasn't even a question. Kris's own album had been going so smoothly it was hard to believe, he still woke up every morning thinking, is it real? Is it really happening? But he could imagine how Adam's brand of flamboyance was hard for the 'suits' to get a handle on.

 _Plus, they don't want me to write songs about fucking boys._ He sounded downright sulky about that, and Kris had to stifle a laugh.

"How many songs do you have about fucking boys?"

 _Oh, you know. Not that many. Not all of them. I have plenty of songs that aren't about fucking at all. But I'm not going to write stuff about falling in love with some girl when everybody knows that's not me. And there has to be room in the market for **somebody** to be doing this stuff. My fans are going to want it, and people who don't get me and don't like The Gay aren't going to be buying my album anyway, so what are they about? Sorry, I guess I'm getting very boring on the subject. Let's just say, I'm mostly happy in my work, so long as I'm allowed to actually do it._

"Everybody hates management," Kris offered, helplessly. Truth was, he was getting on fine with his own suits, but then, there wasn't exactly an image problem with a sweet, old-fashioned, happily married Christian boy who wore plaid because he liked it. His problem, he thought, would be getting himself noticed among all the other nice guys. The only solution he had to that was writing the best songs he could write and singing them the best he could sing them, and he was doing that, so. "Oh, I almost forgot. Katy wants to know when she's going to hear that song you did with Lance Bass. She about died of envy when I told her you were recording with JC Chasez."

 _Yeah, JC's great. And that's another thing, I wanted to maybe do a couple of numbers with him, but—sorry, sorry. Back to the whining, gotta stop that. I don't know if anyone's ever going to get to hear **Flower**. It kills me, it's so good and I can't—Sheilagh and I managed to convince the old suits that it'd be good publicity, but the new ones aren't going for it. They say I don't need that kind of publicity. It's all the same crap, over and over. But I can send you a copy. I, um. Not sure Katy's going to love it, though._

"I'm pretty sure she will."

Adam laughed. _Um. Hmm. Okay. I'll email it, but if she doesn't like it, tell her it's okay, she doesn't have to._

* * *

 _Katy thinks it's fantastic. So do I, by the way, but she's about ready to fall down and worship you._

"Cool!" said Adam. "I love that girl."

 _Yeah, me too._

No kidding, they were adorably gone on one another. Sweet and... uncomplicated. Adam envied that. It felt like he was never going to find someone who'd stick with him. Ironic how Drake had finally ended things while Adam was in LA, when he'd been one of the reasons Adam had wanted to record _Flower_ there. Not the only reason, sure, but still. Drake wanted more than scraps of time and he didn't have any more than scraps while his career was taking off like a runaway semi, he couldn't just abandon the wheel.

"So," Adam said, wrenching his thoughts back on track and trying to sound upbeat. "A positive audience reaction. That's good!"

 _And, if you want more, Katy told me, well, she has some advice for you. Marketing stuff, how to speak to the suits. You get them to look at **Flower** as a market test._

"Er, yeah?"

 _You weren't planning to use it on your album, right?_

"Of course not."

 _So you persuade the suits to use the song as a test of the market. Let it out, pretend it got leaked by accident, see what the response is like. People do it all the time. If it gets hot, then you'll have the proof that the kind of stuff you want to do is going to sell. If it doesn't... okay, if it doesn't do anything, then the suits win. But it will._

Adam felt a slow grin spread across his face as he assimilated this. "You know, that's—that could work."

 _You need to talk it up better'n that, obviously. I don't do the marketing-speak, but._

"That's okay, Sheilagh can do that. She was pissed when they vetoed it in the first—the second place, she'll go for this, I bet. I think we can make it work." He laughed. "And if we can't, at least I'll get to see their heads explode when they hear it."

* * *

Lance had this weird feeling in his stomach. It took him some time to figure out why it felt familiar, because it had been a while, but eventually he identified it as the same feeling he'd had back when they'd had an album out, or a new single. Especially way back at the beginning. When they'd just recorded their first single, it had been agony waiting for it to hit the airwaves, hit the stores, waiting to see if anyone liked it. He'd had the same kind of feeling waiting for _No Strings_ to make it big, too, not as much, though, because he'd been confident it would, and by the time _Celebrity_ came around he'd been pretty calm about the whole deal. He hadn't felt so involved with _Celebrity_ anyway, not when he'd been up in Canada filming while half the album was created, and it had been the Justin and JC show all the way.

But now. Now, he'd been really involved. He'd been important. His voice mattered. He'd heard the finished track—JC had sent him a copy a mere three days after their studio session, which had to be a record for JC—and it was amazing, yes, even the sex noises. As long as his parents never, ever got to hear it, he wanted it out there. He hadn't even played it to Lisa, because he had promised not to share it with anyone, and Lisa had given up pleading and just went around with big sad reproachful eyes all the time, which was fucking irritating.

And it seemed that Adam Fucking Lambert wasn't going to do anything with it after all. Not a word, nothing, and the song was just languishing. It was all right for Adam, he was busy making his actual record, and if he recorded a bunch of tracks that didn't make it onto the album, that was just par for the course. But he'd made out that _Flower_ was so important. Maybe Adam had seriously just wanted to make the recording and it didn't matter what happened after, but Lance wasn't like that, he didn't record stuff just for the artistic satisfaction, he wanted it to have a point.

Eventually, Lance couldn't stand it any longer. He called Joey to gripe.

 _Oh, yeah, **Flower**. It's amazing, man, I was going to call you right this minute! I told you you could do it. How come you didn't send me a copy?_

"I was just—I was—it was Adam's thing, not mine, I didn't share it with anyone yet. Don't tell me JC sent it you."

 _Sure. I called him just a few minutes ago, he said he was leaking it and did I want it, so I said sure._

"JC is leaking it?" Lance felt something clutching queasily in his stomach. If Adam wasn't ready to have this public, and JC let it out...

 _Yeah, of course. You know he's been letting a bunch of songs out onto the internet lately, he just passed it along like usual._

"Oh. Okay. I should probably call him, find out what the story is."

 _Sure. But, Lance? It really is good._

"Yeah. Thanks, Joe."

*

 _You did know it was going to be leaked._ JC sounded as though Lance was the one being unreasonable. _I mean, that was the point, right from the beginning._

"Yes, but, I didn't—how come you leaked it?"

 _Oh, you know, plausible deniability for Adam. He talked his suits into it—_

"He told me they agreed already!"

 _Oh, that was different ones, you know what record companies are like. And I've been letting stuff out anyway, you know, so this was the easiest way to get it out there. Can't wait to hear the buzz!_

"No. I mean, right."

 _So the story is, we were just messing around in the studio together, and you guys tried this song, you know, just casually, and then it got mixed up with some other stuff and was never supposed to be leaked._

"Nobody who's ever met you will believe you produced it 'casually', JC."

JC huffed. _Okay, just for fun, then. Anyway—_

Lance's phone beeped. He checked the number. It was Adam Lambert. "JC, I have a call waiting, I think I should take this one. Talk to you soon, okay?"

* * *

 **Zinnia  
 _thoughts of friends_**

 _Katy says thank you for the flowers._

Adam grinned. "She deserves them. If it wasn't for her, I'd never have gotten _Flower_ out, and if it wasn't for that, there's at least four songs that wouldn't have made it onto the album."

 _Your suits were convinced, then._

"Oh, yeah. The fan sites are buzzing like crazy. It's been such a trip watching it all, like, people not believing it was for real, and all the arguments about who was really singing it. Did you see what Lance Bass put on his Myspace?"

 _You linked me to it, remember?_

"Oh, right, I forgot."

 _I thought he did it beautifully, pitched it just right._

"Hmm. I thought he could have used a spellcheck," said Adam, who was particular about spelling. Lance had called him to suggest he should put out a 'confirmation of the fan rumors' message, and he had done a good job, it was true, but 'absolutly'? Pah.

 _But it was sorta bashful, gee shucks mom, I did this thing with some friends and now everybody knows about it, I thought that was smart. And hey, if you think Lance's spelling is bad, don't read the comments._

"God, no. If they're like everywhere else it'll be all speculation about are we sleeping together."

 _You can't possibly be surprised about that. Two famous, good-looking gay guys, what else did you expect?_

"You think Lance Bass is good-looking?" Adam pretended to pout, which was a bit pointless since Kris was five states away.

 _Hey, don't pout._ But obviously psychic. Adam sat up and stopped pouting. _Sure, he's good-looking. You could do a lot worse. Anyway, if it takes the heat off me..._ And there was Kris's wicked, deep-in-the-throat chuckle.

"You know, it's funny, I thought I'd get the song out of my head when we'd recorded it, and I kind of did, except... now we're working on the video for my single, I can't help wishing we could do one for _Flower_. I mean, it's crazy, but it's in my head."

 _Did you ask Lance if he'd make a video with you?_

"Oh, hell, no. I said I thought it would be cool, and he got all practical about how much it would cost and how it wouldn't fit with our story about just doing the song for fun."

 _He probably thinks you're a lunatic._

"Nah, he's just boring. I mean, okay, I know it's crazy when I have so much else going on that I need to do, stuff that actually matters, that I have this completely unnecessary thing in my mind. It's funny. It's like, I'm giving myself time not to think about my own songs and how important this album is for me."

 _Thinking about a video you can't make lets you relax a little bit?_

"Yeah, it does. There's no stress, you know? I mean, I love what we're doing with the single, I really do, it's going to be fabulous. It's just, you know. Pressure. The single really matters. And I've been focused on the album for so long. And we shoot the video the day after tomorrow. I have to think about something else or I'll really go insane! And with the _Flower_ video I don't have to get into the actual details, you know? Just the concept and the imagery and how to make it sexy."

 _I'm afraid to ask._

"Oh, no, it's not, well, it is a little, it wouldn't be that outrageous. Not like—wait till you see what we do for the single! No, it was just, when we were working on recording with JC, the two of us sang it sort of at each other, because honestly I think he was having trouble keeping the focus and I thought maybe doing it together would help, and it did, and now I have this visual of us singing right in each other's faces." Himself in something black and leather and flamboyant, big flashy rocks in his ears; Bass in a white T-shirt, tight across the shoulders. "Profiles, either side the screen, getting closer all the time until we're up in each other's faces. Of course, he'd have to stand on a box. He's practically a midget." Adam grinned to himself at Kris's splutter of indignation. Bass was taller than Kris. "And images, hands crushing flowers, pink roses or peonies, something big and showy, and petals falling down, and also..." Also clothes ripping and falling, and images of sheets and naked flesh and hands, too quick to be sure what was happening. Though the fans would frame by frame it, he thought wistfully. "Oh, well. Not gonna happen."

 _Hmm. It sounds kinda sexy._

"Oh, yeah. It'd be really hot."

 _So are you rethinking the whole Lance Bass, not my type, thing?_

"What? No!"

 _Are you sure?_

"You know, that's the thing people seem to be missing about _Flower_. Everyone's obsessed with are we fucking now, but it's really about us being completely different. Like, I'm me, and he's just... He's all wholesome and family-friendly, and spends half his time at the gym and the other half in the pool." Not that he had noticed Lance Bass's exercise-toned waist. Or his arms. Not _noticed_ noticed.

 _You seem to spend an awful lot of time thinking about stuff the two of you could do together._

"It's not Lance Bass, it's the song! Seriously, he's so not my type."

 _You know, Katy said to me, if one of her girlfriends kept insisting that a guy wasn't her type the way you keep saying about Lance, she'd be sure they'd be dating within a month. And in my house we have a rule that Katy is always right._

"Maybe, but I'm not a girl."

 _You look awful good in a dress, though._

"You know, if you were here right now I would so smack you for that!" Kris chuckled. He was an evil little brat sometimes. Which was basically why Adam liked him so much. "Anyhow, I'm sorry, but Katy's wrong about this. I am not interested in dating Lance Bass."

 _Maybe you just wanna have sex with him._

"Okay, I think we're done with the subject of my repressed longings for Lance Bass's fine, fine body. Tell me what you've been doing since last week."

*

Adam didn't have a lot of time to spare for watching television, but Katy had emailed to let him know that Lance Bass was going to be on one of the late-night shows and she was sure he'd be asked about _Flower_. He didn't intend to bother with it, but somehow, he found himself channel-surfing at the right moment and ended up watching Lance Bass being sweet, charming and self-deprecating (and fidgety as hell) as he talked about some TV pilot he'd done. They played a clip of it, and Adam was surprised. It was funny.

He answered the _Flower_ question very cleverly, too, managing without actually lying to convey the impression that he and Adam had just somehow happened to find themselves in JC's studio and he was as surprised as anyone to find that the song had become something of an internet phenomenon. Looked completely genuine, too, all big green eyes and toothy smile. And he said some very flattering things about Adam that he didn't actually need to say. Which was nice.

Whatever. He still wasn't Adam's type.

*

Writhing and heat and the most fantastic noises and slicksmooth sweaty limbs tangled and big green eyes and hothothot fucking, slamming, ramming, and—

Adam woke up suddenly, heart racing and almost painfully hard.

He was not alone in the bed.

He couldn't have, surely he couldn't have... except, right next to him, an untidy dirty-blond head facing away from him on the pillow, and the sheets were a riot, and had he really had incredible sex with...

"Lance?" he said tentatively, touching a bare shoulder.

"The fuck?" said a voice that was more of a tenor than a bass, and when the guy turned around his dark brown eyes were glaring. "The name," he said, coldly, "is David." And got out of bed and went... wherever. Adam was so thrown by the whole thing he didn't get his wits in order in time to cajole, er, David out of his perfectly justifiable pique. Not that it would have been easy. Adam knew he'd gaped like a goldfish when the face that turned to him wasn't Lance Bass's face. Crap. If he'd ever been more embarrassed in his life, he couldn't remember it.

It had been good sex, too. But the dream sex was better.

*

A couple of mornings later, he was fortunately alone when he woke up to the memory of another ridiculously erotic dream featuring Lance Bass, and a raging hard-on. Okay, he thought, let's go with it, so he deliberately conjured up the images again, those strange green eyes looking up at him, that mouth stretched around his cock, deep silk-wet heat and bass vibrato.

Ohhh, yes.

Showering off the mess, he had to think about this. Why the fuck was he fantasizing about Lance Bass? Dreams—couldn't help what happened in dreams, except if they were supposed to mean... something. But Lance Bass as a symbol of—of what? No, that didn't work. These were sex dreams, no significance attached. They just meant that somehow he'd got Bass and _Flower_ permanently mixed up in his head. He'd been thinking of the video images, that was all.

Because of course he'd been imagining a video with blowjobs.

Admit it, he told himself, that doesn't fly either. Even if it was just the association with _Flower_ —and if Adam was going to be truly honest with himself he had to concede that it wasn't—he was going to have to admit it to himself. He thought Lance Bass was... attractive. Sexy? No, not sexy, fuckable, he was fuckable. Sexy implied it was Lance Bass in his entirety who was attractive, and Adam was not going there. He stepped out of the shower and began to towel himself dry.

Leaving aside the fact that he and Bass had nothing in common apart from being gay, it would be insane to even contemplate getting involved with him. The publicity would be horrendous. It had been bad enough when they'd leaked _Flower_ , every prurient paparazzo in the city—in the country!—assuming they were fucking and doing his best to get pictures of the two of them together. "Which, luckily, we weren't," he reminded his reflection, which nodded decisively back at him.

Anyway, he didn't have any desire to get involved with Lance Bass, who was as conventional as an ex-boybander turned Hollywood businessman could possibly be. Adam tried to imagine Bass at Burning Man, shaking hands with everybody and handing out business cards. He couldn't be interested in someone like that.

He was probably dull in bed, too, or at any rate he'd be conventional. Safe. Missionary position and blushes. What would it be like to kiss him properly, deep and dirty and wet and—

Adam was supposed to be not thinking about that.

No, wait, maybe he should think about it. Maybe if he thought about it when he was awake he'd stop having these incredible dreams.

Or. Maybe. He should do it. Maybe the way to stop the fantasies was to have the reality right there for reference, reality sex that would just be ordinary sex, not blazing white-hot erotic masterpieces.

Hmm.

Adam examined the idea as he dressed. Fuckable Lance Bass was not, as far as he knew, in any kind of committed relationship, so no foul there. The paparazzi had stopped paying them particular attention, so no risk of anything crazy blowing up from it, not immediately anyway. What was the worst that could happen? Bass might turn him down... Like that was going to happen—Adam's memories of their first meeting were clear enough. No, he thought. He won't do that. So the worst that could happen... would be bad sex, which would actually be good, because that would stop the fantasies. Really, this was the perfect solution. The more he thought about it, the more appealing it was. In fact, if he didn't have to get back to work he'd lie back down on the bed and think about it some more, but he couldn't be late.

Anyway, problem solved. All he had to do now was have sex with Lance Bass.

* * *

 **Pink  
 _boldness_**

Now that Adam had decided to go along with his subconscious, he didn't see any merit in waiting around. The bold approach, he thought, that was the one to go with. So he dialed, and when the phone was answered with a cheerful Hello, he said, "I think we should have sex."

There was a pause. _You know,_ Lance Bass said, eventually, _it wouldn't hurt you to make a phone call like a normal human being once in a while. Hi, this is Adam Lambert, how are you, is this a good time, that kind of thing. And then I could say something normal too, like, Hi Adam, good to hear from you, let me take you off speakerphone._

There was a distinct, unquestionably feminine giggle.

"Ah. Am I on speakerphone?"

 _Not any more._

"Er. Oops?" said Adam, trying not to laugh. "Sorry."

 _Don't worry, it's only Lisa. Who is leaving the room RIGHT NOW._ There was a faint "Bye Adam!" then a very pointed sigh from Bass. _So, what can I do for you?_

"Like I said, I think we should have sex."

 _Seriously, I have actual work to do, could you get to the point, please?_

"Sex. S - E - X. You, me."

There was a bewildered laugh. _But, I—why? I mean..._

"Because," said Adam, carefully, "even though you are totally not my type—"

 _You're not my type either, just so you know._

Strange how that stung, a little, even though he didn't care if he was Lance Bass's type or not. "So what is your type, then?"

 _Let's see. My last boyfriend was a fighter pilot turned model. He had the most magnificent thighs ever._

"Wasn't he also a psycho?" Adam said, unwisely.

 _Apparently you know all about my relationship with Reichen. I suppose Cheeks is also a psycho, and that's why you're not dating any more._

Adam's breath caught in his throat, and he opened his mouth to say something blistering, but before he could, Bass interrupted.

 _I'm sorry. That wasn't—but, you know. Reichen was, he helped me a lot when I came out. I won't ever forget that. And just because other people see it one way, doesn't mean that's how it was. You must know that._

Adam paused. He had been out of line, after all, and if Bass had a hell of a return, well, he was probably entitled to be pissed. He took a deep breath. "Okay, bad line of conversation. Not helpful. So you're not looking for me and I'm not looking for you. But I think you're... I think you're stuck in my head. So maybe we should, how shall I put this, suck it and see?"

 _Oh, Lord._ A pause. _All right. Okay. Sex it is. Where and when do you want me?_

That was unexpectedly easy. "Uh. I'm in New York right now, doing some TV appearances. Then I go out to LA day after tomorrow for some more."

 _Okay then,_ said Lance Bass, altogether too cheerfully, _when you get to LA and have some free time in your schedule, give me a call. I'll see if I can fit you in._

He hung up on me, Adam thought, incredulously. And he wasn't taking me seriously at all.

But Adam was going to be free Sunday, after the early morning thing, and most of Monday. So hah, Lance Bass, you'd better get ready, because Adam Lambert is coming.

At which point the double meanings got too much for him, and he collapsed onto the couch and laughed until his stomach hurt.

* * *

So Adam Lambert was really on his way here, to Lance's house, ostensibly for sex... Lance couldn't actually believe that. This was obviously some weird mind-games thing Adam was playing, for reasons Lance couldn't begin to guess. Or else there was some new gay-friendly TV show doing the Punk'd thing that Lance hadn't heard of, except that Lance not knowing about such a thing was actually even less likely than Adam Lambert wanting to have sex with him. He thought it was. He was pretty sure.

He'd find out soon enough what was really going on, as the gate had just called to say they'd let him through. And he was on his own, no attendant camera crew, apparently.

So maybe... No, he must try to convince himself there was something else, something completely different, behind this. Because he was getting awful butterflies. If Adam was, could he possibly be serious? Was there any chance that he'd actually been thinking about Lance, too?

And there was a car crunching on the graveled drive. Lance liked gravel. Nobody could sneak up on him.

Calm, keep calm. Cool, calm and collected, Lance told himself as he went to the front door.

The dogs, excited, followed Lance to the door, and greeted the visitor with their usual idiotic rapture. Adam scored quite a few points by bending down to greet them back, until Lance managed to quell the riot and persuade the dogs back into the house.

"So, hi," said Adam Lambert, taking off his sunglasses.

"How are you doing?" Lance greeted him automatically. "Come on inside." He ushered the dogs through and out into the back yard.

Inside, Adam looked around, apparently not much impressed. When he got enough money for a place like this, Lance thought, Adam would probably hire a very much more adventurous decorator. Instead of a tasteful (and okay, arguably dull) vestibule in various shades of beige, he'd have purple suede walls and snakeskin tiles and mirrors everywhere. Or something.

"I'm sorry, I'm expecting a call any minute, but, uh. Can I get you anything?"

Adam produced a somewhat predatory smile. "No, thanks, I'm good."

I'll just bet you are, Lance thought. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable."

"Mmm." Adam looked around the room, in which there were pale, comfortable couches and easy chairs and giant cushions, and waggled his head. "I'm thinking we really need a bed for this. I hope you changed the sheets."

"Oh, God, no. I have people to do that for me," said Lance.

Adam laughed, and Lance was yet again annoyed with himself because he liked that laugh, the way it seemed to come from deep inside, the way it sounded so spontaneous and. Sexy. Damn it.

His cellphone chirped out Wendy's ringtone, and he blessed her immaculate timing. "Sorry—this won't take long."

"I'll just go upstairs, then. Your bedroom is—?"

"Left at the top of the stairs, far end. Hi, Wendy, how's it going?" Adam sauntered out of the room, swinging his leather jacket over his shoulder. His jeans were very tight. "I—sorry, could you repeat that? I was distracted for a moment there."

Wendy, bless her, was as crisp and efficient as always, and they ripped through her list in no time. Just as well, as Lance's concentration was good for maybe another thirty seconds. "Okay, babe," he said. "Have a good flight." She was leaving at ass o'clock tomorrow, hence the conversation now.

So. Time to find out.

Lance went upstairs.

Adam had not bothered to close the drapes, so the mid-afternoon sunshine was blazing in. There was a black leather jacket slung casually over the chair by the door. Firmly suppressing a smile, Lance put it onto a hanger and hung it behind the door. Everything else he left on the chair.

He looked at the long, pale streak of self-confidence lying naked on his bed. "Nope, not my type at all," he lied cheerfully, and grinned to himself as he undressed.

* * *

 **Lupin  
 _voraciousness; admiration_**

Adam, supine on the plum-colored comforter, stroked his cock lazily as he watched Lance Bass take off his clothes. The body underneath was the color of pale toast pretty much everywhere. He was a lot more solid than Adam's usual partners—but there might be something to be said for abs that actually rippled, and those thighs were definitely giving Adam some ideas. With the sunlight on him, Bass was—yeah, okay, he could admit it, so long as it didn't have to be out loud. Bass was fucking gorgeous.

Lance Bass slid carefully onto the left side of the bed and lay down on his side. "So, Adam Lambert," he said, and he was using a register that ought to be illegal, "what do you like to do in bed?"

That was easy. Adam tilted his head sideways and let loose his most shameless grin. "Everything." Come on, then, Bass. Show me what you got.

"Mmm. Ambitious." Lance Bass had amazing yellow-green eyes, unblinking, like a cat's. "Me, I'm just a sweet old-fashioned boy. How 'bout we stick to the basics, okay?" He leaned forward and brushed the feather-lightest of kisses over Adam's lips. Adam was about to reply when he shifted closer, and their mouths met again, tentatively. Like baby dykes learning to kiss, Adam thought, and it made him smile, and Bass's tongue darted into the corner of his smile, flickered there, and licked carefully along his lower lip to the other corner, then traced back across the top. Adam allowed himself to be kissed like this, restrained and delicate, strange. Good, but strange. Exploration. Negotiation, even. There was a hand on his face, touching his right cheek almost tenderly.

Screw that. Adam rolled onto his side so that their bodies aligned, not-quite-touching, and opened his mouth purposefully for more.

Somehow they were plastered together, and kissing hard and deep. Adam loved kissing, loved making out, all the preliminaries. Maybe he shouldn't have taken his clothes off, because undressing someone and being undressed was so much fun, sliding hands up underneath and inside was so much more illicit and naughty than having free access. Still, he'd enjoyed watching Lance Bass take off his own clothes, neatly, no wasted moves, no showiness, that was oddly appealing.

Besides, free access was in no way a bad deal. Adam's hand curled over Bass's smooth, bare hip, then glided slowly up over waist and ribs to neck, and there was a deep, needy sound, and Adam thought, _aha!_ and set about exploring the offered throat. It stretched out for him as Lance broke the kiss and angled his face into the pillow. Adam mouthed down along the proud tendon from ear to shoulder, and nipped with calculation. "You were holding out on us," he murmured. "You make really excellent sex noises." There was an impatient snort, and more stretching of the neck. "Given," Adam's teeth closed again, "the right incentive." Really excellent noises.

There was another shift, and Adam was on his back, with cat's eyes staring down at him. "You too, I hope," Lance Bass said, and kissed him again, tonguing deep and slick, then closing his teeth on Adam's bottom lip. That hand was back touching his face, and Adam knew he was in trouble when fingers found his ear. He twitched helplessly. Lance took immediate advantage. Adam couldn't keep still, his ear was zinging, and when Lance's other hand started tracing over his other ear, Adam had to make it stop before he melted into a whimpering puddle. He grabbed Lance's wrists and rolled them over so that he was back on top and straddling those sturdy hips.

By unspoken consent they were both ignoring their cocks right now, although like this, balls to balls, it was hellish tempting just to slide down and suck him in. But Adam was going to do this the hard way, the slow way, he was going to find out exactly what made Lance Bass moan and beg for more. With one hand pinning Lance's shoulder down, he planed the other across Lance's chest and circled his fingernails round one tiny nipple.

After a moment, he realized that Lance was looking at him curiously, like a cat presented with an uninteresting toy. "This doesn't do anything for you, does it," he said, ruefully.

"Not so much," said Lance, "but I'm guessing—" and he copied Adam's technique, the bastard, and Adam tensed and groaned, because his nipples were oh so very, very receptive, and when Lance curled upwards—hours of abdominal exercises, presumably, good to see those muscles were actually useful—and applied his tongue, wide and wet, and then blew in a little circle, oh, he was so lost. Adam sat back on Lance's thighs and clutched at Lance's shoulders and proved that yes, he also made excellent sex noises.

Lance's hands slid slowly down Adam's sides, and Adam cringed just a little bit, suddenly self-conscious. So he pushed, until Lance was on his back again and Adam was kneeling above him, and Adam spread his fingers and slid lightly over Lance's chest and flat belly—which quivered and retreated from his touch. "I didn't think you could squeak so high," Adam said, and if he was a little bit smug, well, why not? But he saved the information for later, because his hands had found the sweet silken skin at the top of Lance's thighs, and Lance was doing his best to spread his legs and not wriggle, and Adam loved that so much, when a guy was trying to restrain himself and not totally managing it. So he shifted, one knee between Lance's, and when Lance opened wide for him he teased mercilessly, all around and never quite touching.

"You know, if you need a map," said Lance.

"Map?" Adam said, innocently. "Is there something you want me to do?"

"I want you to fuck me," said Lance. "Stuff's in the nightstand, top drawer. But lots of prep first."

Adam leaned over, and found a collection of neatly organized condoms and lube. No toys, though, because Lance was a sweet old-fashioned boy. "You nervous? Has it been a while?"

"I just like having fingers in my ass."

Adam grinned and uncapped the lube. And Lance really, really did like having fingers in his ass, which was good, because Adam loved it, fucking a guy helpless on his fingers and watching him writhe. Lance looked so fuckable, toffee-gold and smooth, laid out with one ankle on Adam's shoulder, the other leg stretched wide, and his hands clenched at his sides with the effort not to jerk himself off. He made such exquisite noises, low whining in his throat, deep, rich moaning, and when Adam swirled two saliva-wet fingers over the head of his cock, an amazing growly-purr that Adam was pretty damn sure meant he was good and ready.

"How do you want to be fucked?" he asked.

Lance brought his leg down and sat up, efficiently ripped open the chosen condom and rolled it down onto Adam's cock. "Give it your best shot," he said, leant in for a quick and dirty kiss, then flipped himself over onto all fours and hauled a pillow beneath him. Adam gave himself a moment to appreciate this new view and stroked his thumb down from the tattoo between Lance's shoulder blades along the groove of his spine to the cleft of his gorgeous ass, then positioned his cock and pushed forward. Best shot, hah! Like he ever did anything less.

He loved this, sleek muscled flanks under his palms, tight, tight grip around his cock. Watching it slide inside, never get tired of seeing that, never. The soundtrack of beautiful noises, the yesyesyes and the please and the fuck, _fuck!_ And Lance did something, he _rippled,_ fuck, if he was going to do that, fuck, again, yes, Adam was going to have to—have to let loose, have to reach his hand around and hold Lance's cock, strip it hard in time as he thrust, the two of them working for it, pushing at each other, fighting for it, hard, hard, finding their rhythm and going all out until Lance shouted and shook, and Adam followed him right over the edge.

Legs quivering, Adam pulled out, and Lance muttered and rolled sideways and dumped the beslimed pillow on the floor. Adam got rid of the condom into that handy little trash basket under the nightstand. He flopped flat onto the bed and breathed. Fuck.

"Okay, then," Lance said after a few moments.

"Uh huh," Adam replied. "One of my better ideas, I think." So much for bad sex. But hell, who wanted bad sex anyway?

"I did not think you were serious. I thought I was being Punk'd, or something. You sure there isn't a hidden camera in here?"

Adam laughed aloud at that. "Oh, man, that would be something. Think we could break YouTube?"

"Probably." Lance paused. "But then I'd have to have you killed, which would be kind of a waste."

Adam turned his head and met the yellow-green cat's eyes, wide and innocent and apparently fine with death threats. Hmm. "Nah. Don't worry, I'm not that kind of exhibitionist." But he thought about his impossible video for _Flower_ , and how very, very perfect the images would have been, and sighed.

"How do you feel?"

Adam considered. He'd just had objectively fantastic sex with someone he wasn't sure if he actually liked. How did he feel? Satiated? Confused? "Hungry," he said, firmly.

Lance snickered. "I guess you earned dinner," he said, swinging himself off the bed. "Gimme a few minutes to clean up."

So Adam lay there while Lance was in the bathroom, and thought about whether he might, maybe, have been mistaken about having a type after all. Lance emerged and said, "All yours. Use the green towels," and started rummaging around in the dresser, so Adam went into the palatial bathroom, white and green and mirrors, with a pile of fresh dark green towels on a rack and a couple of rumpled white ones on a rail. He was bewildered by the array of settings for the shower, but the shower head was the size of a serving platter, and he sang merrily as it emptied over him like a rainstorm. Afterwards he failed to locate a hairdryer, though there had to be one here somewhere. The hair would have to do whatever it wanted, then. He put his jeans and T-shirt back on and found his way to the kitchen, there to be offered a hot roast beef sandwich so mighty he could hardly get his teeth around it. There was a bowl of strawberries on the table.

"Drink?" said Lance. "Vodka?"

Adam smiled around his sandwich and nodded enthusiastically. He received a very large glass of red stuff which turned out to be vodka with cranberry, lime and Triple Sec, about five times the volume of any Cosmopolitan he'd ever been offered in his life before.

"Looks like you and me got something in common after all," he said.

"Hmm?"

Adam waved his glass. "This is good."

"You want another sandwich?"

Adam considered, and decided not. The one he had was like an entire three-course dinner already, and he could probably do something provocative with strawberries for dessert. "So," he said, about two courses in, "when you agreed to do _Flower_ , was this what you had in mind?"

"This, like, specifically, you showing up and getting naked with me, or this, generally, with the internet notoriety and the vaguely horrified interviewers, stuff like that?"

"You have horrified interviewers, too?"

"Let's just say, the cool gays have some trouble getting their heads around it." Lance bit into his own sandwich, which meant Adam had time to think what to say to that.

"I haven't noticed anyone having trouble with it. Okay, no, I guess that's not exactly true. Carson Daly was a bit, you know, trying to wipe his hands clean, and that time I went on Regis and Kelly, they were all, _We can't play you this song because it's not suitable for national broadcast,_ and all wide-eyed and deliciously outraged and trying to find ways to get around everything the song was about. So prissy. I thought it was hilarious."

"Yeah," said Lance. "You get the straight people being horrified. Didn't you get any of the, like, _you did something with Lance Bass, oh my God you traitor_ from the gays? 'Cause, you know. You got the stamp of approval, I didn't."

"I guess that's what happens when you come out in _Rolling Stone_ magazine instead of _People_ ," Adam said, and wished he hadn't because it felt like totally the wrong thing.

"Yeah, well, it helps when you get a choice," said Lance. "You want a refill?" He had made, it turned out, a pitcher of the red cocktail. "I wasn't exactly happy with the way it was done, but hey. Turned out to be the best thing I ever did, even if I did say some stupid stuff in the interview. Didn't really know what I was doing, I guess. But it'd be good to have a statute of limitations on saying the wrong thing." He seemed more resigned than resentful, and Adam felt a twinge of sympathy.

"Like, what wrong thing?"

"Oh, you know, straight-acting gays, that kinda stuff."

Adam winced. He remembered that, he remembered talking about Lance's coming-out interview with friends, and the level of bitchery had been extreme even for that particular bunch. "It must have been tough," he said cautiously.

"It was a very... strange year," Lance said. He looked very young, Adam thought, with those amazing eyes so wide and serious. "What with having to tell my family, and everything. And then when it happened, things went so amazingly well, better than I ever thought they would. I guess it all worked out. I'm much happier now than I ever was when I was trying to hide it all the time."

"Why did you hide? I mean, c'mon, you were in a boyband. People must have been speculating."

"Sure, but. You know, image, and all that. I thought it would destroy the group if people knew. It's funny, though, I think I have more fans now than I did then."

"Yeah, isn't it weird? So many girls who just love us. The only thing I could say that'd make my female fans more enthusiastic would be, I'm thinking of trying pussy."

"Do not do that. You'll be killed in the stampede."

Adam laughed. "I wouldn't dare," he said. "But you didn't answer my question—about _Flower_. You were the one who thought of it. Why was that? What made you pick that song?"

"Oh, God, I don't know," Lance said, his gaze straying around the kitchen. "Probably it just came into my head."

"Your friend Joey seemed to think you must have had a good reason," Adam said, watching Lance closely.

"Joey likes to think I'm really smart." Lance said, shaking his head with a rueful smile. "Truth is, I say all kinds of crazy stuff. I don't _do_ crazy things, at least, not unless I thought about them and decided it was worth it. But I say things off the top of my head all the time. I guess I was just thinking about it being an outrageous number."

"Huh. Okay, then." Adam had a niggling feeling there was more to it than that, but he clearly wasn't going to get any more out of Lance.

"I really liked the take you had on it all, the aggressive thing, it came across so well. I'm really glad I did it."

"Me, too. I mean, it helped a lot with my album, but even without that, I just love the way it turned out. I had this really cool idea for a video, with us being as different as we could be, you know?"

"Eyeliner and platform shoes versus jeans and T-shirt?"

"Yeah, that kind of thing." Adam had finished his sandwich. Deciding not to spill out the details of his impossible video treatment, he took his plate across to the sink. "Us not being each other's type, but, you know."

"Yeah." Lance followed Adam and deposited his own plate. "Although, about that 'not my type' thing. It's possible I wasn't... entirely truthful about that."

"Really?"

"Mmm," said Lance, dropped to his knees, and had Adam's jeans open and Adam's cock in his mouth before Adam could move.

Fuck! he thought, taken completely by surprise.

Not that he had any objections.

Adam's cock was soft, but with that hot wet suction all around it, that was changing real, real fast. Lance's tongue slid back and forth along the underside, his face was buried in Adam's groin, hands pressing Adam's hips against the cupboard, he was going full out, zero to sixty in about three seconds, Adam could hardly catch his breath. Every nerve seemed to be centered in his cock, like taut ropes of sensation stretching back right through his body, it felt like his balls were being sucked dry, Lance's throat was working round him now, it felt like his bones were being sucked out, fuck, fuck that was intense, he couldn't think. He clung to the countertop to keep himself upright as his orgasm rushed right through him and out, leaving him giddy.

"You want to go back upstairs?" Lance said, his deep voice a little hoarse.

"Huh?"

"Upstairs. Bed? Lie down? More sex?"

Adam looked down at him. Did he mean, like, move? "Brains. Out. Sucked," he explained.

Lance stood, and tidied Adam's junk more or less back into his jeans. "Come on then, tiger," he said, took Adam by the hand and led him back upstairs, where he undressed him carefully and ushered him under the comforter.

"I, uh. Think I'm gonna..." Adam felt a vague need to apologize for something, but sleep claimed him before he could figure out what it was.

* * *

Sitting up against his pillows with _Variety_ propped open on his knees, Lance was glad to have the chance to think while Adam was fast asleep beside him. Otherwise, this was a bit... overwhelming.

The sex had been even better than he'd imagined. He'd tried to be cool about it, but...

And it was almost strange how comfortable it had been talking with Adam afterwards. Lance had expected a bit of awkwardness. After all, it had been the oddest approach he'd ever experienced, a phone call out of the blue from someone he'd honestly thought had no interest in him. And who had, until recently, been dating someone else anyway. Which had been a shame, because Adam was about as gorgeous as a man could be, just the right blend of beauty and masculinity. And now, here he was in Lance's bed. Lance looked down at the sleeping face, admired his strong jaw and the pretty fringe of his closed eyelashes, and felt distinctly hopeful.

He should probably try not to think about what happened next. Lance pushed his glasses firmly onto his nose and did his best to pay attention to the words in front of him.

A few minutes later he felt the man beside him begin to stir, and put his magazine aside.

"Er. Hi," said Adam, blinking. "This is mortifying. What time is it?"

"Don't worry, the night is still young. It's not much after ten. And I'm taking it as a compliment."

Adam narrowed his just-opened eyes. "You did not wear me out. I mean."

"And the fact that you just totally crashed would not be, you know, some kind of evidence?"

He had a perfect mouth for pouting. Lance leaned down and took the jutting lower lip between his teeth, pulling on it gently until Adam laughed against his mouth and opened up. Lance's glasses poked against the side of his nose: Adam reached up, removed them and dropped them on top of the nightstand.

"Why, Mr Bass. You're beautiful without your glasses."

Lance rolled his eyes, but was more than happy to be pulled down into the bed and into a full-on embrace. Adam was obviously determined to compensate for his embarrassing lapse into sleep, because the kissing was spectacular, hot and wet and demanding. There was no more of the careful exploratory politeness from earlier. Their hands went everywhere, their legs twined and rubbed, their erections slid against one another's bellies. Adam's hips were miraculous, the way he moved was pure sex, Lance just hooked himself onto him and hung on.

He traced around Adam's ear with his tongue, and bit his earlobe. "You going to bottom for me now?"

There was an, "Mmm, sure," in response, but Lance wasn't totally convinced by it, and he'd expected to be. It wasn't the instant, eager assent he'd been hoping for, and he couldn't tell if it was just Adam not being thoroughly awake yet, or if 'everything' maybe didn't cover as much as he'd assumed it did, or more simply if he just wasn't in the mood. They didn't know each other well enough.

No problem. If Adam wasn't happy about bottoming, he'd try something else. "If I was topping you, I'd want to start off by licking you all over," he murmured into Adam's ear. He loved it when a guy had sensitive ears. So convenient. "Find out if you have any imperfections." There was a grunt at that. "Maybe your elbows are just ugly. Maybe the backs of your knees are grotesque. Maybe the soles of your feet—"

"Do not even think of licking the soles of my feet. Ew!"

"Hmm, would that be a ticklish spot then? Good to know." Lance grinned and tightened his teeth on the earlobe within range, and there was a corresponding wriggle beneath him that nearly blew his resolve right out of the bed.

He settled them more firmly on their sides. "I'd turn you onto your front," he promised, "and lick my way down your backbone. Such a long way. I like a guy who's tall. So much more to play with." His free hand tricked its way down Adam's back, two fingers, little strokes, like a cat's tongue. "All the way down. Then I'd spread your ass open and keep licking. I'd make you get your knees under you, bring your ass up for me, and I'd keep licking." He brought his hand up to his mouth for a moment. "You'll like that, won't you, you'll love it, my tongue in your asshole, you know how good that can be, don't you, you love it." His fingers were there, spit-slickened, playing over Adam's opening and little teasing thrusts just inside.

"You like rimming?" Adam gasped, muffled against Lance's face.

"Ohhh yeah. Love it, the feel of it, the taste of it. I like having a man come apart on me, like making him spread himself open for me, you can do that, can't you, hold yourself open so I can fuck you with my tongue." His fingers moved deeper, and Adam whimpered and bucked. "Only I won't let you come while I'm rimming you. I don't want to fuck you like that, want to see you, want to watch your face as you come. I'll turn you onto your back," he pushed, gently. Adam lay back on the bed, eyes closed, mouth open, and his hips wouldn't keep still.

Lance leaned over for condom and lube. Adam's eyes flew open, startled, as the condom rolled down on his cock and Lance slicked him with an efficient hand. "I thought—"

"I'm going to take my time, I'm gonna make it last as long as I want," Lance told him, leaning down almost nose to nose. "Just a little way in, just that first inch, that's so good, isn't it, that first inch, the way it feels when you open for me, your ass is so tight around my cock, just rocking there so I can feel you gripping me tight." He rocked, tiny movements, on the tip of Adam's erection, taking him just inside. "As long as I want," he said, "and you know it's good, you know it'll be better if you let me do what I want with you, you know I'll make it good for you. But you wont' be able to help yourself, you'll want more, you'll want my cock inside you all the way and you'll beg me for it."

Adam made an incoherent noise, so Lance kissed him, thrusting his tongue hard and deep, and keeping the penetration shallow in his ass.

"And when I don't want to wait any longer, I'll slide right into you." He slid down so slowly his thighs could feel the strain, until his ass was pressed against Adam's pelvis, and then lifted himself up again to that last inch. "How good that feels, don't it, deep inside you, and I'll keep it slow, so slow, so you can feel everything, the way my cock fills you up, then slides oh so slow out of you again." He resettled himself carefully, shifting weight, and spread his right hand over Adam's chest.

"Fuck, fuck," Adam groaned, "please, I want, please."

Lance quickened the rhythm of his rise and fall, just a little, and squeezed, and rolled Adam's nipple between his finger and thumb, and when Adam's hips rolled upwards, he rose too, keeping control, keeping the penetration exactly where he wanted it. He pushed back down. "You feel it, don't you, feel my cock dragging over that sweet spot inside you, you know it's going to get better every time, and you want more, you want it harder and faster but you know it's going to be so good if you can keep still and take it the way I want to give it to you." He began to move steadily, long, deep strokes, still talking, telling Adam how good it was going to be when Lance fucked him, still tormenting his nipples, and watching his face for every flicker of pleasure.

The tension was almost painful. Lance wanted to slam down on Adam's cock, wanted to give in and hurtle them both towards their climax, but he wouldn't. He kept his relentless rhythm, slow enough to feel everything, every cleaved inch, and Adam's hands grabbing his thighs and clutching at his arms. He could see the orgasm building in the tension of the beautiful pale body under him, the way Adam stiffened and arched, and Lance bent to his offered chest and pinched a nipple, hard, and Adam screamed and came, pushing up so hard Lance's knees lifted off the bed. As soon as he was down, Lance's hands went to his own cock and within seconds he was coming too, grinding down onto the cock buried deep inside him as he ejaculated.

He was going to be sore in the morning, but hell. So, so worth it.

* * *

When Adam woke up, there was sunshine behind the drapes, and Lance Bass was snuggled against him with his head on Adam's shoulder and one arm flung across Adam's chest. It was nice. Really, if there was a better way to wake up than with a sexy guy curled up against him, Adam couldn't think what it was. Mmm, possibly a sexy guy giving him a blowjob.

Lance opened his yellow-green eyes. "Hey."

"Good morning."

"I suppose you want breakfast?"

"Oh, no hurry, unless you have somewhere to be?"

"No, it's cool."

"We could shower, first," Adam suggested. "I mean, you could hold orgies in your shower. It's amazing."

"You know what, I never had an orgy in the shower. Or anywhere else. Obviously I missed out."

"Really, never? You seem to have a nice-looking posse around, it never came up?"

"Amazingly, no."

"Mmm. Well, it's mostly hotter for the idea than the actual sex," Adam said. "More'n three people, and everybody stops using their imagination, it just turns into a by-the-numbers game of which combination didn't happen yet."

"Okay, I'll strike _hold an orgy in the shower_ from my list."

"No, no, you should try it once. Everybody should."

"I'll... keep that in mind," said Lance, in a tone that meant, _I'd rather stick a chainsaw up my ass_.

"No, really," Adam said with all the earnestness he could muster, "it's good that you haven't. I mean, everyone should have some first times left to look forward to, right?"

"Uh huh. So what kind of firsts do you have left? Apart from women?"

"Oh. Huh. I'd have to think about that."

"You... actually might be a first for me," Lance said, sounding very tentative. "I'm not sure yet."

"Really? What kind of first?"

"I never had sex with any man I didn't have a, a relationship with."

"Really?" Adam sat up. "Seriously? No, that can't be. You must have so many guys coming on to you! Seriously, you never had a one-night stand?"

"I never did."

"But... wow. I mean, that's, wow. Are you _sure_ you're gay?"

Lance looked at him pityingly. "Pretty sure, yeah. Couldn't you tell?"

"I thought it was in the rules. Rule twenty-seven, _you will have a slutty phase,_ or something."

"Guess I didn't get the handbook."

"Is that the one where they wrote the gay agenda?"

"Probably," said Lance, swinging his feet out of the bed. "You ready for that shower now?"

 

Adam washed Lance's back for him. And his chest, and his arms, and his belly, thighs, calves, feet. Then he blew him, there under the deluge. Afterwards Lance jerked him off with hot, soapy fingers, and it was all good.

*

Lance looked a little stiff, moving around the kitchen for eggs and toast and coffee makings, and grumbling at the dogs as they pleaded for breakfast. When asked, he muttered about exercising his thighs, and said he'd be fine provided he didn't have to go horseback riding today, which he didn't.

"Have you ever been horseback riding?" Adam asked, expecting a negative. Foster came and sat beside him and rested his head on Adam's leg and permitted his silky ears to be fondled. Adam hoped he was not going to be rewarded with drool.

Lance handed him a mug of coffee and orange juice in a cut crystal tumbler. "Sure. Not for a while, but back home, when I was a kid, lots of times."

Adam couldn't imagine the kind of childhood that naturally involved lots of horseback riding. He had tenuous memories of ponies at somebody's birthday party, but that was all. "We're even more different than I thought," he said.

"You know, we've got more in common than you think," said Lance. "I mean, I've been photographed wearing eyeliner, and with a snake, and on the cover of _Rolling Stone_ magazine. Just not all at the same time." He paused to sip thoughtfully at his coffee, then added, "My snake was a lot bigger than yours."

"You—your—!" Adam leapt from his stool. In seconds he had Lance pinned and was tickling him ruthlessly, the dogs were wildly excited and trying to join in the fun, and Lance was shrieking and batting at him and begging him to stop.

"No, no! Uncle! Uncle! Don't—don't spill my—coffee! Mercy!"

Adam tickled just enough longer to make the point, then set Lance free, eyeing him very sternly. Lance was still flushed and giggling as he turned his attention to scrambling the eggs.

Breakfast, and a long kiss, and that was goodbye.

* * *

Then it was back to the publicity grind, and yeah, it was good that so many shows wanted Adam Lambert, it was great, but it was exhausting. And there were still final details to be sorted for the album, and he wasn't sure if his feet got to touch ground at all for several days. And the first single was out, and he seemed to hold his breath for ever, but it was up there in the chart, it did great, it was fantastic, and at last he could relax a bit, except that then there were decisions to be made about the tour, and it really felt like he'd never get a rest.

He did, though, take the laptop to bed, and googled for Lance Bass+snake before he collapsed into sleep.

He didn't find any snake pictures. But he found a lot of other stuff. Interviews he hadn't noticed when they'd happened, the old _Rolling Stone_ covers, a picture of Lance wearing the world's most fabulous jeweled coat (and eyeliner!) and posing with Alan Cumming, both of which filled Adam with a vast and passionate envy, and a photoshoot of a younger Lance on the beach which was ridiculously beautiful and proof positive that Lance didn't have to have rippling abs to be fuckable.

It surprised him that he could not get Lance out of his head. He didn't always have the time or energy to go out at night, find an appealing boy to spend the night with, so his masturbation fantasies were getting more of a workout than usual. And he had a new one now. Sure, the old favorites would never lose their appeal—jerking off on stage with the whole audience screaming and applauding, or having four gorgeous guys work him over—but now, he found his hands drifting down to the replay of that last fuck with Lance, and he was Adam Lambert fucking Lance Bass, and he was Lance fucking Adam, and he was being fucked, Adam, Lance, it didn't matter, it was all unbelievably hot.

He found the snake picture, in the end, by emailing Katy. A few days later she sent him a picture which made him laugh and laugh. Okay, Lance Bass, gotta give you that one. Your snake is bigger than mine.

* * *

 **Tuberose  
 _dangerous pleasure_**

The cheerfulness of the first few post-Adam days gradually faded into a twitchy discomfort. The delightful knowledge that they had had spectacular sex and were going to do it again turned into an uneasy conviction that he had been a fool. The confident expectation of a call turned into dread, dread of answering his phone to yet another caller who wasn't the one he wanted to hear from. As the days slipped by, Lance realized that he hadn't gotten what he'd thought he was getting, not at all. It had not been a beginning, it had been just another one night stand.

Lance remembered Piper, dazzled into Adam's bed and afterwards, holding his chin up just a little bit too high when anyone asked. He didn't think Adam really understood what a potent effect he had on people. Lance wasn't surprised it had taken Piper a while to get over Adam. It was going to take Lance a while. And he'd gone into it with his eyes wide open.

He worked damned hard to get that night out of his head.

Lance was completely taken by surprise when the invitation came through. Adam Lambert's album release party, November twenty-fourth. He'd tried not to be aware of the date.

He should go, he supposed. If he didn't, probably people would notice, what with _Flower_ having gotten so much attention. And JC would be there, since he'd worked with Adam on a couple of songs. JC was not good at this kind of shindig, and would be grateful for backup. And Lisa would—

Lance's forehead met his desk. It hurt, but he deserved it. He was trying to find excuses to go. Pretending to himself that he needed to be there for JC's sake, or to avoid gossip, or whatever. Total crap. He was just trying to find reasons to see Adam again, and that was a route to nowhere.

Except.

If, if there was a chance, he had to take it.

He could tell himself over and over that he was insane, that if Adam had wanted more he could have called, any time; he could tell himself that he was fine now, and over it. He could face the reality he was stuck with. But he couldn't help hoping.

He'd have to go. And he didn't know how he felt about that. He didn't know how he'd feel about seeing Adam again. Or which would be more impossible to deal with, if Adam wanted to fuck him again, or if he didn't.

*

He still hadn't figured out how he felt about it when he arrived at the party, with Lisa practically jigging up and down with excitement on one side of him (she'd finagled an invite of her own, probably from the mysterious Sheilagh) and Wendy, who did not jig but was still pretty excited to meet Adam Lambert, on the other. The place was packed already, and though he could see Adam holding court, there was no way of getting near him. Lance was... okay with that. At least for now.

Someone he did see on the far side of the room was JC, looking hunted; someone else he spotted and wanted to talk to—as opposed to the crowd of familiar faces he didn't much care about—was accessible, so he smiled his way through the throng and greeted Kris Allen and his wife, who were both gratifyingly quick to tell him how impressed they'd been with _Flower_. Kris's album was out already, it hadn't had the same problems to get through that Adam had encountered, and Lance assured him with perfect truth that he liked it a lot.

"I guess I don't need to introduce you to JC," he said to Katy, who beamed at him and said they had met when he and Kris were working together.

"Is JC here?" Kris asked.

"He's over there, and I'm pretty sure he'd be glad of some company he actually wants to talk to," Lance said. So they fought their way through, and JC greeted them like they were the US Cavalry.

 

Lance was having a good time, after a while. There were inevitably plenty of people there he knew, and quite a few he actually wanted to talk to. At some point he'd have to go and congratulate Adam, he supposed, but there was no shortage of people lining up to talk to Adam, so for now he could table that and just have another vodka cocktail.

He stepped back, and bumped into someone behind him. Lance was about to turn and apologize when a very familiar voice spoke into his ear. "You know the one thing that could make this evening better than it is?" Adam murmured. "If it ends with you spread out naked and handcuffed to my bed. Think about that."

Lance found that he didn't want it to matter that Adam had said nothing else to him all evening. He didn't want it to matter that he still dreamed of something he wasn't going to get. Adam wanted him now. That could be enough.

Naked and handcuffed to my bed. Think about it, yeah. Like he could do anything else.

* * *

Adam had not been able to stop thinking about this, not since he walked into his hotel and saw the sturdy railings at head and foot of the bed, and thought, yay, handcuffs! and then thought, Lance Bass would look very good cuffed to that bed. And now, here Lance was, with that same guarded, cat-cool look in his eyes, luscious as ever in his jeans and dark grey T-shirt, the perfect end to a truly excellent day. Adam had him up against the bedroom door in no time, kissing him hard and sliding his hands across Lance's flat belly and inside his jeans. Off came the T-shirt, and Adam mouthed his way down Lance's neck, and there were those noises again, so fucking perfect. "Shoes, off, take them off, babe, want you naked," he instructed, and soon Lance was naked, and Adam pushed him down onto the dark blue sheets and pressed his arms into a wide V, and fastened the cuffs onto him, then spread his legs wide and cuffed those, too.

He paused, then, to admire. Lance, spread out and helpless, all for him. Breathing fast, his chest rising and falling, his belly taut, his cock swelling and shifting. Smiling, and maybe even a little bit smug, Adam took his time removing his own clothes, and settled an array of necessities on the bed next to Lance—condom and lube, of course, a smallish dildo, and his favorite vibrator.

"This okay?" he asked, and Lance nodded slowly, and licked his lips. "Good. Very good. Just look at you." He sat on the edge of the bed, and ran his hand over Lance's body. "All pretty, like that. Cuffs all right? Not hurting you?" Lance shook his head. "Good. Pain is not what we're going for, here. I'm going to take you so high, I'm going to find every button you have and press them all, I'm gonna make you come so hard you'll think you've died and gone to heaven."

Where to start, where to start? The arms, he thought, straddled Lance's chest and smoothed his hands along them both. He played with the fingers of Lance's left hand, tugging gently on each, then shifted across and took Lance's fingers into his mouth, suckled them one by one. That was working. Adam kissed his way back along Lance's arm, the tense muscles hard under his lips, and back to that vulnerable neck for some more nibbling.

Now to surprise him. A deep, wide-open kiss, and Adam groped for the lube, slicked up his hand and took a firm hold of Lance's cock. Slow, deliberate strokes. "If you want more," he said, "if you want harder, or faster, you have to ask." Lance said nothing. Good. Adam grinned. "Going to make a fight of it? That's good. I like that." He added a wicked twist, and had Lance gasping, then stopped and shifted position again. Crouching between Lance's legs, he applied mouth and tongue to Lance's balls, sucking, licking, working out what only had Lance moaning with pleasure and what brought him up off the bed.

"You ready for more?" He smiled down at his captive. "Ready for toys?"

Lance closed his eyes.

"Hey," said Adam, holding him by the chin. "Look at me. Don't hide. I want you to see everything I'm going to do to you. I want you to know exactly what's going to happen. Open your eyes."

Lance looked at him, cat's eyes, still unreadable. Adam wanted to see them pleading, awash with pleasure, he wanted them unveiled.

He reached for the vibrator, flicked it on, and rested it against Lance's hip, loved the way Lance's body tensed in anticipation, but when he looked up again, Lance's eyes were closed. "I won't give you what you want until you open your eyes. I want to see exactly how you feel."

Lance's eyes opened. Adam smiled, and moved the vibrator down the inside of Lance's thigh.

"Stop, stop. Let—get me out of this. Please!"

Lance sounded panicked, this wasn't the kind of pleading Adam wanted. "Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay."

"Let me up, Adam. Now."

"Sure, of course, don't—here." Worried, he fumbled with the locks at wrists and ankles. The instant Lance was free, he was off the bed and pulling on his clothes and shoes. "Wait, wait, Lance, what's wrong? Did I hurt you? Tell me, I can make it right—"

Lance was already dressed, though he hadn't bothered with the socks, which were still lying on the floor along with his boxer briefs. "No, you can't," he said. "And, Adam? Next time you want a booty call? Call someone else." And he was out the door, and gone.

"What? Wait, wait! Shit." Adam dressed frantically, fumbling with his clothes in desperate haste, damn these jeans, how was he supposed to get them fastened when he had such a hard-on, it took forever, and he tore along to the elevator but he knew as he ran that he'd taken too long, that Lance would be gone. He dashed into the lobby, heedless of security, ignoring the excited shrieks from a handful of women at the reception desk, and ran outside. "Lance Bass," he gasped to the doorman on duty, "did he leave?"

"Yes, Mr Lambert, just a few minutes ago. Is there something wrong?"

Fuck. "No, no, it's fine. I just—doesn't matter. Thank you." He went back to his room, and swore fiercely. What went wrong? What the hell happened? What had he done?

* * *

 **Yellow Roses; white chrysanthemums  
 _friendship, jealousy, try to care; truth_**

"I thought you didn't even like Lance Bass. You said you were too different. I thought it was one of those high school football things," said Kris.

 _I—high school football? What?_

"You know, when you're in high school the football games with schools from right across the county are just games, but when it's the other high school in town, or the high school from the town just upriver from your town, that's the one you have to win, that's the one where there's a real rivalry thing going on, the school you have most in common with is the one you just have to beat."

 _Okay, you lost me. Football?_

It made perfect sense to Kris, that Adam and Lance had so much in common that a few minor differences would seem huge, but Adam didn't seem to get it at all. "You know, the way people fight more with the ones they're closest to. Like, um. Like fans. Like, your fans probably fight all the time about which is the best song on your album. People who aren't serious fans just aren't that worried."

 _You know, if you're trying to be sympathetic here, it's not working for me. I don't get what being a fan has to do with the way he walked out on me in the mid—uh. When we. You don't want to know about that._

"Never mind, forget it. Bad analogy. So, what, you like Lance Bass now?"

 _I wouldn't exactly put it like that. But he—we—something went wrong, and I don't even know what it was, and he won't take my calls._

"Um." This sounded strangely like a lovers' quarrel to Kris. Was that the reason for Adam's unusual reticence? "You could, um, try sending flowers, that's a traditional way to apologize, and you know where he works, right?"

 _Flowers to his office? I think he'd have me killed._

"Oh. Can you find out where he lives?"

 _I know where he lives, but it's a gated community, and they won't let me in. Anyway, I'm not sure flowers—oh, wait! I know someone who can get me in there. Kris, you're a genius._

"Uh, okay," Kris said, but the connection was already broken. "Honey," he called, "I think I owe you money."

* * *

"Just so long as you remember, you owe me big for this one," said JC, as his car was waved through. "I may just have to leave the country for a while. Lance is going to be so pissed at me."

"Not if I can sort things out," said Adam. Truth to tell, he was nervous about this. If Lance would listen to him, it should be okay, because it seemed like he'd pushed too far, too fast, and he was willing to admit to being stupid. So long as Lance would listen to him. "Is there anything, I mean, you've known him a lot longer than I have, what should I say?"

"Oh, man, do not pull me into this. Whatever it is."

"I already did," Adam pointed out.

"Yeah." JC sounded not at all sure he was doing the right thing. "Look. Lance... kept things secret for a long time. Partly he was scared, I guess, of what we'd say, partly because he wanted to protect us and he thought it was the right thing to do. If he doesn't want to tell you something, he won't tell you, but he might make it obvious—I mean, he brought his boyfriend to Challenge one year."

Was any of this was supposed to be useful advice? It sounded like JC rambling. Adam was on his own. And here they were, at Lance's house.

"Good luck, man," said JC, and Adam got out, clutching his bouquet, and went to the door. _Flowers would be good,_ JC had said, _he's from Mississippi._ Adam didn't know what that meant, but he was willing to give it a try.

* * *

The gravel crunched, the dogs barked, the door chime sounded. Lance levered himself up from his desk and went to let JC in. He allowed himself a moment of curiosity—why was JC coming over? Normally, 'C would just talk about whatever he wanted to talk about on the phone. But if 'C wanted to continue their conversation from the release party in person, that was more than fine with Lance.

It wasn't JC on the doorstep.

Lance found himself clutching a bunch of flowers, and the dogs flowed past him, yelping ecstatically. Traitors.

"I'm sorry," said Adam, with his best _I'm a sweet little boy_ look. Hah.

"What are you doing here? Did you get JC to bring you over, is that why he called?" Lance was already pissed at Adam, and this brought the temperature up nicely. Using JC was not acceptable, and Lance was in no mood to be friendly.

"They wouldn't let me through the gate, and you wouldn't take my calls."

"Get a clue—I didn't want to talk to you." Lance folded his arms.

"It's important. Please."

"Can't imagine we have anything to say to one another." Besides, Lance thought, you never wanted to talk to me before, except to fill in the time between one round and the next. "And the only times you ever called me were when you wanted something from me. What do you want now, and what makes you think I want to give it you?"

"I want to apologize, I want to make things right."

Lance laughed. "Fine. Apology accepted, we're good. So you can get out of here." He grabbed at the dogs with his free hand, caught Foster's collar easily, but Dingo was still wagging around Adam and wouldn't come to heel. Stupid animal.

"Please, Lance. We need to talk. Let me come in." Adam, infuriatingly, got a hold on Dingo's collar, and the ridiculous dog kept twisting his head to look up adoringly.

Okay, then. He was in the mood for a fight. Lance shoved the door wide, and stepped inside with Foster, and Adam and Dingo followed. Lance looked in irritation at the flowers in his hand. What, was he a girl now? He stomped into the kitchen and filled the sink with water for them. He turned around, and a quick flash of memory hit him, Adam standing right here and Lance on his knees. He moved away from the sink.

"So," he said. "Let me get this right. Last time you called me, you wanted us to have sex. Which we did. And after that, let me count the times you called to say hi, how are you, to fill me in on what you were doing, to talk about world peace or football or the price of sushi or whatever, oh, wait, that's easy. None." He was not, he was absolutely not going to tell Adam Fucking Lambert how much he'd been hoping for that call, how much it had hurt when it never came. "Which is fine, because I get it, one night stand, that's how it works. But now I'm supposed to want to talk to you?"

Adam looked pissed, now. Good. "You could have called me!" He stepped closer.

Lance moved in, got up in his face. "What for? I get plenty of sex without you, with guys who actually want to spend time with me."

"I was busy! It's been crazy, this last month."

"And besides, it never even crossed your mind, did it?"

"I thought about you!"

"Well, fuck you very much!"

"I did! A lot! Every night."

"You—fantasized about me when you jerked off?" It wasn't the inevitable conclusion, but he'd hit the target dead center, because Adam reddened.

"Yes, okay, I did," Adam said, snarling at him from six inches away. Damn him for being so much taller than Lance. "You were fucking hot, okay? It's not a crime to remember great sex! Yeah, I fantasized about you, I thought about what we did and what we could do next time, and I guess I extrapolated too much, I pushed you too far because I'd been thinking about all the ways we could fuck."

"You wanted to play games with me because of all the hot sex we'd been having _IN YOUR MIND?_ "

There was a loud bark from Dingo, excited to join in the shouting. Foster nosed worriedly against Lance's hand. And Adam looked so embarrassed, suddenly, Lance wanted very much to laugh. He clamped his jaw down on the impulse. "I'll put them in the yard," he said, coolly. Trust the dogs to turn a dramatic moment into a farce.

He let them outside and closed the door. Sighed. Refrigerator, vodka, tonic, ice, two glasses.

Warily, Adam took his drink and sat as indicated at the far end of the kitchen table. "I am honestly sorry, Lance. I didn't think of it as a booty call, or if I did, it wasn't a bad thing, I just, I'd been imagining... And I was kind of excited by the whole album release, it was such a high I didn't stop to think. I'm sorry I pushed you into something you weren't ready for. If you hadn't freaked, we could have talked. I guess going kinky right off was too much."

Lance gaped at him. "Kinky? Do you seriously think—tying someone to the bed isn't kinky, it's, it's, like, everyone does that! Sixteen-year-olds in their first relationship do it! _Missionaries_ do it!"

"Oh. Er. Was it the vibrator?"

"Did you even look in the second drawer of my nightstand? Come on, Adam, toys aren't scary." He took a deep breath. "Look. I owe you an apology too. I'm sorry. It was a shitty thing to do, running out like that, I should have figured out that I couldn't deal with it before we ever got that far."

"I don't understand what... what I did wrong. I mean, I asked if it was okay, and you said yes."

"Yeah. I—it wasn't the set-up, being tied up is great and toys are fun. It was—you wanted me to be—to give you more than I was ready to give. I mean, it was all about sex with us, and then suddenly you were all, look at me, I want to see how you feel, and I wasn't, I don't." He'd felt a chill of panic, of terror that he'd do what Adam wanted. No way in hell was Lance willing to let Adam see how he felt. He'd had to get out of there to save something of his self-respect. He lifted his chin and looked Adam straight in the eye. "We just had sex, Adam, that's all. You don't get any more than that."

There was a thoughtful pause. "It doesn't have to be just sex, does it?" Adam said. "You said you never had one night stands."

"Not until you, no." Lance remembered it very clearly, his own admission that every other man he'd slept with had been more to him than a one-off. He'd given Adam the choice of making it more, and Adam's resounding silence had made it clear that he wasn't interested. "You said it all, five minutes ago, you said you were busy. I know what that's like, I know exactly what it's like, but people make time for things that matter. I've seen all of my guys take a moment to call their girl, in the car on the way to an interview, or between takes on a video shoot, or whatever. I always called home, or sent a postcard, even when we were doing three shows a day and so tired we could hardly move. If it matters, you make time." If you don't make time, it doesn't matter.

"I read your book."

Lance stared.

"I read your book, I googled you, I—it was like, I spent time with you."

"You just didn't actually need me around," Lance said, dryly.

"That's not what I meant," said Adam, helplessly.

"No, I get that. I do." Lance was, actually, quite touched, much against his will. Anger was such a useful defense, but... Adam had been thinking about him, even if Adam was also an idiot who couldn't pick up the phone. "So, what are we talking about? I mean, you want us to get to know each other, what?"

"I don't know, I just... I don't even know if we have anything in common, but we could maybe find out?"

"I guess," said Lance, guardedly.

"I'm not looking for a boyfriend," Adam clarified. "What with the tour coming up and all that's happening with me right now, I'm not ready for that. No exclusivity deals."

"That's fair." It wasn't what he wanted, but it was honest, and Lance appreciated that. As far as it went. "Not with all those twinks out there going _Oh my God It's Adam Lambert, quick, lube me up!_ "

Adam snorted vodka tonic. He spluttered and flailed and coughed, waving helplessly, and tears ran down his cheeks. Lance found him a box of Kleenex and watched in amusement as the paroxysms died down.

"Oh, fuck, that is so exactly true!" Adam wiped his eyes—just as well he wasn't wearing eyeliner today. "You get that, too?"

"Oh, yes." Lance grinned. "Reminds me of the groupie days. Never was tempted then, either."

"Okay, so, yeah. I do take advantage—now I'm going to start laughing next time I get some guy—you are evil, Lance Bass! Damn, I wish I'd known that! I guess it comes back to, I should have made some time. Look, I want to see you again, if we can make it happen. If you want to. I'd like to get to know you better. We seem to be able to talk, um, in between sex, we should be able to talk and not actually end up in bed, don't you think?"

Lance wasn't sure he saw the appeal. He was all for them getting to know each other, but Adam, right there in the room, and no sex? The hell with that. Still, he had a feeling he didn't need to worry about it—the two of them together, sex was going to happen. "Then... we're kind of dating, without the going out in public together part?"

"Yeah. If that works for you? I guess we don't get to go out to clubs together. The gossip would be hideous."

"Just as well," said Lance. "I'm not much of a dancer."

"That's not what Katy says," said Adam, and grinned.

"She's adorable, but I think she's biased."

"I think there's some fan site she still visits. She found the picture of your snake."

Lance offered an innocent, inquiring expression.

"It had a caption on it. I are size queen." Adam nodded regretfully.

Lance burst out laughing. "It was a hell of a snake!" he insisted.

Adam tried for an innocent look, failed, badly, and couldn't stop his own laugh bubbling out. Really, he had the sexiest laugh in the world, not that Lance was going to tell him so. "And the stuff you've done," Adam said eventually, "it's like you live in a completely different world than me, so, you know, we could talk about all kinds of things. Now, if you like—I have this thing tonight, and I'm rehearsing like crazy the rest of this week, but we could talk now."

"The Christmas Auction charity thing?"

"Yes. You too?"

Lance nodded. "I think everyone's going to that."

"But we have three or four hours, so we could, um, order pizza? You get deliveries out here, don't you?"

"Sure, but. Pizza? I'm pretty sure I have food in the house."

"Yeah, but you know what, I'm in the mood for pepperoni. You do like pepperoni, right? Otherwise we may have to re-think the whole dating deal."

"You, hold on—pepperoni? Pizza? Wait a second, you wouldn't eat, I thought you—" Lance spluttered indignantly. He'd been so careful not to fix bacon for breakfast!

"I don't like prunes," said Adam, obviously trying not very hard to keep a straight face. "Besides, you were so sweet, offering to send out for kosher deli for me."

Lance attempted a reproving glare, but in the face of that gleeful grin, gave up. "Pepperoni pizza. Right." He didn't treat himself to pizza very often, but there were menus on the mutt-shaped pinboard Briahna had given him for his last birthday. They negotiated briefly about ham, mushrooms, onions, and he dialed and ordered for delivery in ninety minutes. He had plans for the next hour or so.

"Okay," Adam said. "So, we talk. Um. Where d'you want to start?"

Lance looked at him.

"If... uh."

Lance raised an eyebrow, just a little.

"Or," said Adam, "possibly..."

"In the circumstances," said Lance.

"It would be kinda nice," said Adam.

"Since you made such an effort to come see me," said Lance, "and brought me flowers an' all." He abandoned his own chair and straddled Adam's lap. "It'd be ungracious to send you home without saying thank you."

"And a nice Southern boy like you would never be ungracious."

"Absolutely not. So do you have any idea what I could do to express my appreciation?"

"Hmm," Adam said, thoughtfully. "You know, sixty-nine has always been one of my favorite numbers."

"There you are. Something we have in common."

* * *

"Yeah, Joe, I have something to tell you, and it's not something I say very often, in fact I may never ever say it again," said Lance.

 _Oh. Okay._ Joey sounded baffled. _What is it?_

"You were right."

 _Woo hoo! Yay me! Uh. What about?_

"Adam Lambert kinda is my type."

 _Ah-HAH! See, I'm Italian. We know these things._

Lance rolled his eyes, but Joey was entitled to his moment. "Yeah, you knew best."

 _So are you, what, are you guys dating now?_

"Kind of. It's pretty casual."

 _Casual. That doesn't sound like you._

"Well, no. Not really. But casual is better than nothing at all, which is what I thought we had. He doesn't have a lot of time, anyhow, he's preparing for his tour, so. But we keep in touch."

 _Doesn't sound like you're getting enough hot man sexin',_ Joey said, as Joey inevitably would say.

"I'm doing all right. Maybe not enough quantity, you know what rehearsals are like, but I can't complain about the quality."

 _The trick is to get both,_ Joey said, irritatingly smug.

"Yeah, yeah, one of these days I'm going to tell Kelly about how you brag, and she'll cut you off, and then where will you be?"

Joey just laughed. _I'm guessing you guys are trying to keep things quiet._

"Yeah. The good thing is, there was all that fuss about were we dating when _Flower_ got leaked, and we weren't, so I think people were finally convinced there was nothing to find, and they don't seem to be looking anymore. At least, not right now. I can probably turn up at one of his shows and nobody'll think anything of it."

 _You don't—make sure you don't short-change yourself,_ Joey said, serious now. _I know you, you want the whole deal, you're not good with casual. Don't let him dictate._

"No, it's good, we agreed."

 _Mmm. So you're going to take advantage of not being boyfriends, and keep seeing other guys, right?_

"Er, I. Probably. Sure. And we do talk a lot even if he's not here, we call."

 _Phone sex isn't like the real thing._

"Joey!" It wasn't as good as the real thing, but it wasn't a bad substitute, Lance thought. "We actually have conversations." Usually after the phone sex, which was maybe weird, when he thought about it, but he and Adam seemed to have a habit of getting to the sex before the talking.

 _Chris always said you had the best voice for phone sex._

"Okay, Chris is back on the List." Lance hadn't kept a serious shit-list for years (except for the handful of people who would never, ever be off it), but Joey loved the whole concept.

 _Oh, I meant to ask, is JC on the List? 'Cause he was pretty worried there._

"No, JC's fine. I called him, I told him he actually did me a favor. Anyway, I can't seem to say no to Adam, no sense blaming other people for the same thing."

 _You take care, you hear?_

"I will. I am."

 _And you know, if you need to have him taken care of, I know people. I'm Italian. I got connections._

"Yeah, but Joe, you're big hugs and lasagna and crying at weddings Italian, not the sleeps with the fishes kind. Anyway, I know what I'm doing. I'll be fine."

 _Okay._ Joey didn't sound convinced, and Lance knew he wasn't going to be able to convince Joey of something he wasn't absolutely sure of himself, so he asked what Briahna wanted for Christmas instead, and threatened to buy her a pony. That worked.

* * *

 **Blue Salvia  
 _I think of you_**

Adam lay back on the couch and dabbed at his sticky belly with a Kleenex. Lance really knew how to talk to a guy. And his voice, when he dropped into his sex register, was a turn-on in itself, and listening to him come... JC had been on the right track, back when they recorded together, asking Lance to tape himself masturbating.

He wasn't ready to end the call, and he didn't want to break the mood totally by talking about his tour itinerary or the screw-up with his dancers during this evening's show. But there was something he had been meaning to ask... "So what is kinky, then?"

Adam could almost _feel_ Lance frowning at him. He grinned. Discomposing Lance, the most fun they could have without an orgasm at the end of it. But he did want to have this conversation, and now seemed like as good a time as any. "Tying someone to the bedposts doesn't count. So what does?"

 _I. Um. Pain? And, um, humiliation. I wouldn't want that. Not sexy. Or anything public._

"No fantasies about having sex on stage, then," said Adam, vaguely disappointed.

 _Oh, well, fantasies,_ said Lance. _I wouldn't do it, though, or, I mean, anything where people could see. If it was risky enough to be hot, it'd be so risky I wouldn't take the risk. I really don't want the entire world knowing what I do in bed._

"No, me neither." Adam shuddered at the thought. Perez Hilton gloating over the details of his sex life, ick. "What else don't you do?"

Lance sighed resignedly. _I'm not into serious bondage, the kind that involves specialist equipment or intricate things with string._

"Intricate things with string?" Adam snickered. It wasn't even that funny, it was just somehow the way Lance put it, it sounded so ridiculous.

 _You know, where someone is all trussed up, more like an art exhibit than sex. I've seen some photos, they were beautiful pictures but they didn't turn me on at all. I think maybe if something is too precise, it doesn't feel like sex any more, not for me. I guess. Honestly, I don't really think about this stuff much. If there's something you want to do, we can try it and see how it feels._

"So if I wanted you to wear stockings and silk panties?"

 _Silk is nice,_ Lance said agreeably.

"Or watersports?"

 _Sure._

"I'm kinda... impressed." It was true, Adam thought. He'd started out with a lot of assumptions about Lance and most of them didn't seem to hold up at all. "You told me you were a sweet old-fashioned guy."

 _Well, you know how it goes—I'm normal, you're kinky, he's a filthy pervert. I think sex should be about having a good time and making sure your partner has a good time, so if something turns you on, then I guess I'll try it._

"I'm going to start a list," Adam said.

 _I still have some of your IOUs,_ Lance reminded him.

Yeah, they were only half-way through Lance's toy drawer. But right now Adam was touring, and it was going to be a while before he got to play with Lance in person again. "Did you do any of this stuff before? Stuff that fits your definition of kink, I mean."

 _Not really. I guess my long-term guys weren't interested and with short-term ones we never really got to that level._

"Me, I like a bit of variety. The spice of life, and all that."

 _You mean you just have a short attention span._

"Nnnnnnnnmmmmaybe. I mean. I don't seem to be very good at long-term." There was a pause, presumably Lance assimilating that. It was only fair to warn him, Adam thought.

 _You and, um, Brad lasted a while, though._

"Yeah."

 _So, you know you can do it if you want to._

"Yeah, but. I wanted. I thought we were going to be, I guess it sounds crazy to say it but I thought we were going to be forever. I mean, he was, we just, we fit, he was like my soul-mate. My perfect match, all the way. And... I couldn't hold on to him, so what chance do I have with anyone else?" Adam's stomach tensed. He had not meant to say that.

Lance was silent for a moment. _Sometimes what you think you want isn't what you need._

"Hey, are you quoting the Rolling Stones at me?" Adam said, lightly. "If so you need to get the words right." He was not going to get teary, not now. He was over Brad. Really.

 _No, but, I'm thinking of me and Reichen. You know, he might have been tailor-made for me, everything I thought I wanted in one big handsome package, but it didn't really work out for me either, so._

"It must have been hard, breaking up with the guy you came out for. I mean, not that you exactly, but you sort of did."

 _That was probably why it went on as long as it did. I didn't want to admit it wasn't working._

"Public breakups are a bitch," Adam said, feeling as though he ought to offer a bit more consolation, but he remembered the gossip about Reichen Lehmkuhl and he couldn't think of anything better to say.

 _Yeah, but private ones are almost worse. I mean, at least if the whole world knows you broke up with someone you're allowed to be miserable. When it's all a secret, you have to pretend nothing's wrong._

"You said in your book..."

 _Jesse. Yeah. We're friends again now, not good friends but we're okay. It's real hard to be friends with the guy who broke your heart._

"Yeah." Sometimes Adam thought it would be easier on him not to be friends with Brad.

 _Time helps, I guess. You move on._

"I guess," Adam agreed, unconvinced. He hadn't been able to make it with Brad, he hadn't been able to keep Drake either, all those fans screaming and fainting over him thinking he was the best deal on earth and still he couldn't keep the guys he wanted. He just didn't seem to be any good at relationships. It was probably better to concentrate on his career right now. It wasn't exactly compatible with anything long-term. He said so.

 _It's okay. I'm not expecting us to be all hearts and flowers._

"Hey, I gave you flowers!"

 _That is true._

"Which is more than you ever did for me," Adam pointed out, relieved to be on easy ground again.

* * *

They talked, now. In bed, before Adam went off on his tour right after Christmas; and now that he was several states away, in late night phone conversations after Adam's shows. But sometimes Lance wished they hadn't. The conversation about being in love had set up a twisty ache around his heart. Even now, thinking about Jesse left him a little bit wrung, because it had been so perfect back then when he was innocent, and the memory of Jesse with someone else was still a pinprick of hurt. And now, he knew Adam was—even though they'd agreed, they weren't exclusive, it wasn't a betrayal, but. Lance was not good at casual.

And Adam was so sure what he wanted, and it didn't sound like Lance at all. Adam wanted a soulmate, someone who matched him all the way and shared his ideas and the way he looked at life. And Lance knew about Brad, Cheeks, whatever he was calling himself these days. He'd seen the videos; a beautiful, dark-eyed faerie boy, sharp and fascinating in a way Lance knew he himself could never be. Lance was a nice guy, he thought. He wondered if it would ever be enough.

Lance was also guiltily aware that hadn't been as honest with Adam as Adam had been with him. He hadn't admitted that he'd never quite loved Reichen—it would have seemed all kinds of wrong, when Reichen had been so good for him and he had been honestly happy while they were together. But Lance didn't want to be the shining one in a relationship, he was a backing singer by nature as well as by voice, he was a producer not a star, he wanted to have someone who needed him, someone he could support and cherish... and Reichen hadn't been good enough. How could he possibly admit that without sounding like, without _being_ , all kinds of a jerk?

* * *

Lance wasn't home, and he wasn't answering his cellphone.

Of course there was no reason Lance shouldn't be out enjoying himself tonight. He wasn't scheduled for any appearances—Adam had a list of those so that he knew which nights not to call—but there was no reason at all why he shouldn't have gone out with friends. No reason at all.

Adam had been looking forward to the call. He had no show tonight, they'd arrived in Denver just before eight, he'd had dinner and gone back to his room. Touring was hard work. He didn't have the energy to spare for going out tonight, so he'd settled down alone on a hotel bed as broad and green as a sports field and made himself comfortable for a long conversation, and Lance was out, and not picking up his phone, and Adam did not want to think about what Lance might be doing because there was no reason, no reason at all why Lance should not go out and enjoy himself with other people. Adam could do that too. He was here overnight. He could go out, find a club, find someone. Have a good time.

He poked at his phone instead.

 _Hey, Adam! How're you doing?_

"I'm good, I'm very good. How are you? How's Katy?"

 _We're great. Things are—man, do you ever get the feeling you're just having this really amazing dream and all the stuff that's happening to you isn't real?_

"Is it still like a dream?"

 _Yeah, pretty much. I'm gonna be touring myself soon._

"Yeah? Fantastic!"

 _And I've been writing, and—you know, it's just. It's incredible. Still._

"It really is. But I bet it's a lot easier in dreams, right?"

 _That sounded heartfelt. Are you okay?_

"Yeah, yeah, I'm great. Seriously, I couldn't wish for anything better than this. It's just—" he laughed, a bit self-conscious, "it's all happening so fast, it's like, when do I get to slow down? You know, take a breath, take it all in. It's a hell of a ride." Like being on a roller coaster for months.

 _I guess. So what's it like—is it harder touring on your own that it was doing the **Idol** tour?_

"It's... I don't know that it's harder. It's different. In some ways it's easier, because it's my tour so everything's the way I want it. At least, as much as it can be. I have a rest night tonight and I'm sitting here in a hotel room that's twice the size of the apartment I was living in a year ago. And you know what? It doesn't even feel that weird."

 _We got used to luxury, didn't we._

"Yeah, luxury and no time to enjoy it. Which is kinda still true. You should see my tour bus!"

 _If it's better than the one we had..._

"I don't have to sleep in a bunk, I have a big bed, not as big as the one I'm sitting on right now which I swear you could play baseball on, but it's nice. But you know, the pros are kinda the cons at the same time. It gets a bit lonely, touring by yourself."

 _I thought you were too busy to get lonely. And you must have plenty of people around._

"Once you're into the routine it gets easier. Okay, a little bit easier. But it would be kinda nice to have someone to talk to who wasn't working for me. Oh, God, that sounds terrible! Listen to me, I'm a diva."

It was so good to hear Kris's laughter. _You just now realized?_

"Hey!"

 _But you know, you don't have to be on your own. Get someone to ride along with you._

"I don't know... "

 _So how is Lance, anyway?_ There was a knowing tone in Kris's voice. Adam could just imagine his sly little grin. _Not right there with you swinging a big ole baseball bat?_

Adam broke into helpless laughter and collapsed backwards into the pillows. If he could find someone who made him laugh like Kris did... "No. Sadly, not," he said when he could speak.

 _But he's still around, yeah?_

"Yeah, yeah. He's still around, he's fine. He's. He sent me the biggest damn flower basket I ever saw in my life." It had been waiting for him in his dressing room a few days ago—where was that, Portland?— taking up half the floor. With a little note attached to it that was just a smiley face with its tongue sticking out, and Lance's initials. "He does make me laugh," he said, surprised.

 _That's good, right? Unless it's the wrong kind of making you laugh._

"There's a wrong kind?"

 _If he dresses up in a gorilla suit and runs around the bed making monkey noises? I'd say that's the wrong kind._

"You know, I worry about Katy. She's such a sweet girl, and she's stuck with you, and you are a perverted little freak. No, Lance does not wear a gorilla suit."

 _Hey, I said it would be wrong, didn't I?_

"I'm just disturbed that you thought it up at all," said Adam. Then something occurred to him. "He would if I asked him to." For a moment, he was tempted to make the request. Lance's face would be something to see.

 _O. Kay. Definitely heading into TMI territory there. So, red roses or thistles?_

"What? Oh. No, not red roses. Yellow tulips, plus those lilies that look like angel trumpets." About a thousand of them. "It was a joke, really. Definitely not a red roses moment."

 _So do you think there's a red roses moment in your future?_

"I... I'm not ready for anything serious right now." It was the wrong time. Touring, recording, when did he even have five minutes to make a relationship work, if he even could? And, with Lance? "Anyhow, you know we're still, we're really different."

 _But you get along pretty good._

"Yeah, we do." Not just in bed, either, Adam thought, although that surely didn't hurt. "But he's into producing and business stuff, that's what he does, and I'm a performer, I do the creative side, I just don't see how that can really work out. Not long term."

 _Uh huh. Right._

"Well, you know. I need to find someone who really fits with me, with the way I am."

 _Mmm. You do know Katy's in marketing, right?_

Adam opened his mouth to say—something—and a strange noise came out so he closed it again. Kris's merriment resounded from the cellphone that was now on the floor. He picked it up. "Uh. I didn't mean. Do I have my foot stuck in my mouth here? Should I just chew on my toes for a while?"

 _No, man, but you know what? You could kick yourself in the ass a few times._

"I could do that, sure."

 _Adam, nobody's perfect. Not even—I mean, Katy snores. Oh, yes you do! Which one of us is asleep when you snore? It's really cute, these little tiny—ow! No, no, stop!_ There were some very strange noises. Adam waited patiently. _If you can believe it, I'm not perfect either._

"Really? No! That can't be!"

 _I'm actually really ticklish. So you see..._ He turned serious again. _Just—keep an open mind, y'know? If this thing with Lance is good, then it's good. So it's not what you expected. Life's full of surprises._

"That, I cannot deny."

 _So don't rule the guy out. See what happens._

After he put the phone down, Adam stretched out and stared at the ceiling. He'd have to think about that for a while.

* * *

 **Carnation  
 _bonds of affection, health and energy, fascination, alas for my poor heart_**

It was shaping up to be just another Monday when the call came.

 _Hey there. You got a few minutes?_

Lance checked his watch, surprised. "Hey, Adam! I didn't think I'd hear from you until later. You've just finished soundcheck? Or are you about to start?"

 _No, we're done. TIme to go eat._

"You sound..." very down, he thought, but amended it to, "tired."

 _Oh, God, I'm just so... I sometimes think I'm not going to get through this tour. It's three more weeks, and it just looks like forever._

"You getting enough sleep? Taking care of yourself?"

 _I have so many vitamins every day it's a miracle I don't rattle. But sleep, I wish. It's crazy, I'm so tired, but after a show I'm just wide awake, the buzz, you know? And I can't go out to a club and dance it off because I get right back on the bus and we're off to the next city, and I'm lying there replaying the show in my head instead of getting to sleep._

Lance summoned Adam's itinerary onto his screen, though he'd practically memorized it. "Chicago should help. You have an overnight there, don't you? Maybe you can go out after the show tonight." Lance cringed from the thought of Adam going out. There'd be a sea of eager fans, and a cute boy would no doubt help him relax. It still wasn't something Lance wanted to have to think about. He made a practice of going out on the nights he knew Adam was not performing, just so that he didn't have to think about it. It sorta helped.

 _I have this meeting tomorrow, one of the RCA execs is coming to talk me through the schedule they've worked out. Taking advantage of the fact that I'm in a hotel tonight. So I don't get to sleep late._

"What's their rush? They couldn't wait until the tour's over?"

 _I don't know. I think there's some talks going on about my contract. Anyway. They want me to sign off on this thing._ He sounded so miserable, Lance wondered what the hell was going on. Surely the record company weren't planning to drop—no, no record company would be that stupid. But something was clearly not right.

"Is there a problem with that?"

 _I guess... not. I just thought I'd have a chance to rest, you know? I mean, they want me to start working on the next album right off, they have release dates already, and I know it's great that I'm getting the chance to make another one—_

"With your sales figures they'd be insane not to want one."

 _Two, they have two more on the schedule, but the way I feel right now I don't know if I can, I haven't written anything in weeks, and I need to, like, recharge. Maybe I'll feel better after the tour, sleep for a few days before I think about what the next one's going to be._

Lance did not like the sound of this. It seemed like a recipe for burnout, what were RCA thinking? "What does your agent say?"

 _Oh, full steam ahead, grab it while you can, all that. I'm tied in to the AI contract anyway. And I mean, they're right, obviously, I can't let things cool off, I have to be out there, put my music out there. I'll feel better about it when I'm not so tired. Is it always like this near the end of a tour? With the **Idol** tour everyone was getting sick close to the end._

"Would it help," Lance began tentatively, "would you like—would it help if I come spend a few days with you? I mean, I know about touring, I know what's involved, I can keep out of the way while you're working, and maybe take a few things off your plate."

 _I can't ask you to do that. You have your own work._

"I can bring my laptop. And you aren't asking, I'm offering. Seriously. I'm sure I could help you relax. It's up to you. If you want me there, I can take a few days, no problem."

 _I don't think I should ask, but yes. Please come._

"Of course you can ask. I'll be there as soon as I can. I—I actually miss you." The second the words were out of his mouth, Lance froze with horror. "I'llseeyousoon," he gabbled, and cut the connection. That was incredibly stupid, he thought, Adam doesn't want to know that I—hell.

But there was no time for brooding, he had calls to make.

* * *

Showering off the night's sweat, Adam wondered how it was possible to feel so weary and so fizzingly awake. The performance adrenaline was still buzzing in his bloodstream. Thank God for crowds, for their life and energy and the way they shared it with him. He loved performing and he loved his audiences. But he was so tired. He seemed to have been running at top speed for months, ever since the whole Idol thing started, he just wanted to lie down.

Still, Lance would be here tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow. He shouldn't count on that, it might take a while for Lance to rearrange his own schedule, but he couldn't help hoping. Tomorrow. He smiled to himself, turned off the water and wiped himself down before stepping out to dry himself off .

Should he re-read the details for the morning's meeting? Might send him to sleep, but no, more likely keep him awake worrying even after the adrenaline was gone. He picked up his book instead and settled into bed.

The sheets of paper mocked him silently from the table.

Adam did his best to ignore them, but the words in front of him wouldn't settle into sense, and after five minutes he gave up, slammed the book down on the nightstand next to him, and got out of bed. He'd just read it through one more—

There was a knock at the door, the correct knock, the one that meant it was safe to open, not some intrepid fan who'd managed to get hold of his room number. Adam's heart sank. Nothing good would come of a knock at his door at this time of night, unless—he brightened—tomorrow's meeting was canceled and he could sleep late.

He hurried into the bathroom, hauled on the fluffy white hotel bathrobe, padded barefoot across the sitting room and opened the door.

"Oh!" he said, astonished. "Hey!"

Lance's smile lit the room.

"I didn't—I thought, tomorrow, you—how did you get here?"

"Lisa actually is very efficient," Lance said, and looked at him in amusement. "And probably happy to get me out of the office."

"I can't believe you got here so fast."

"United Airlines, man, it's just a four hour flight." Lance looked up at him. "Do I get a kiss hello?"

Adam seized him, pulled him inside and kissed him with great thoroughness.

"You know, I was going to ask if you were pleased to see me, but apparently you are," Lance said, grinning wickedly.

Adam gave his tush a quick smack, then hugged him again. "I missed you, too," he muttered, suddenly convinced it was important to say so.

"Well, now I'm here," said Lance, briskly, but he was smiling too, and ducking his head, a little bit shy and a little bit pink, which meant he was well pleased. Also, incredibly cute. "All ready to provide congenial company, moral support and," he set his duffel down and dropped his voice into sex register, "relaxation."

"You don't want, I mean, food? Something to drink?" However pleased he was to see Lance, it wasn't fair to drag him to the bed and ravish him without letting him, oh, take his shoes off first.

"Nah, I got dinner on the plane."

Adam grimaced.

"No, no, they look after you okay in first class. Mind you, I thought for a while I was going to have to fly coach." He shuddered theatrically.

"I appreciate the sacrifice," Adam said, trying to sound solemn, but he couldn't stop smiling.

"Don't worry, it didn't come to that. So." Lance unwrapped the hastily tied belt from Adam's waist and slid his chilly hands inside the bathrobe. "How much help do you need to get to sleep?"

"Nothing you can't supply," Adam said into Lance's neck, stretched so invitingly before him. "I mean, I don't think we even need to, if you're tired from traveling, if you wanna wait till morning." He really hoped Lance didn't want to wait.

"Adam," said Lance, firmly, "I am not tired. It's not even bed-time on the West coast. I have been thinking about you for the past seven hours. Do not tell me you want to wait until tomorrow."

"I won't do that," Adam promised. "I definitely won't do that. I seem to be really awake now. Not tired at all."

"In that case, I have a lot of work ahead of me, don't I?"

"Mmm. Maybe you should get undressed."

"That sounds like a plan."

"Do you need any help?"

"I don't know. Do I?"

Adam's smile grew. "Mmm, yes, I think you do. I think you do."

*

Adam opened his eyelids just enough that he could navigate to the bathroom, do what he had to do, and find his way back to the bed. It seemed to be empty, but through the not-quite-closed sitting room door he could hear Lance rumbling. "—massive revenue opportunity—potentially huge—squandered on short term profit—" Okay, he'd said he would bring work with him. It occurred to Adam that it was kinda sexy, hearing Lance being all stern and businesslike, but he wasn't really awake enough to process that. He groped for his wristwatch, squinted at it, and realized he could spend another hour in bed. He crawled gratefully between the sheets and dropped back into sleep at once.

When he woke up again, there was coffee.

A moment later, Lance stuck his head around the door. "Ah, good," he said, and brought breakfast through into the bedroom. Adam found himself sitting up in bed, faintly bewildered but not unhappy, with a plate of protein-heavy breakfast on a tray, and fresh orange juice. Lance, dressed but barefoot, settled beside him cradling a cup of coffee, and explained that he'd eaten already. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you. Am I supposed to eat all this?"

"Yep. Carbs later, before the show."

"Okay," said Adam, who had by now realized that he was hungry, and began to eat.

"I, uh. Did something I probably shouldn't have," Lance said, carefully.

"Mmm?"

"You did tell me, last night, I should read the schedule from RCA."

"Yeah, and?"

"I thought you might not remember. You were practically asleep."

"No, no, I remember," Adam said, gulping down a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "So you read the schedule."

"Mmm. And then I called an old—well, not a friend, but I knew he'd take my call, at 19 Entertainment, and told him they were being screwed." He hesitated. "I should have talked to you first, but I was pissed, and you needed to sleep."

"Oh," said Adam. "What did he say?"

"Let's just say, I persuaded him to re-evaluate some revenue projections," Lance said. "I mean, there's no use talking to record company execs about reasonable treatment and decent human behavior, because they are all sharks and were raised in petri dishes, but they understand money. It's just like Hollywood, really. Anyway, 19 have seen the figures, they want you long-term—which, incidentally, don't sign up for that either, but we can talk about that some other time—anyway they definitely don't want RCA screwing with you just because they have you on license right now. He was furious about it. So, um. If the guy puts that schedule in front of you, don't sign it."

"Oh, shit, the meeting! What time is it?"

"Don't worry, you have forty minutes to shower and dress. But, um. Are you okay with that?"

Adam looked at him in astonishment. He'd never realized Lance had a secret super-power. "So what are you—you're saying, 19 still get to over-ride what I do with RCA?"

"They have some clauses in the contract which will cover it, yes."

"And I don't have to stick with that schedule?"

"Apparently, and you don't know this, okay, they have some negotiations scheduled in about a month. If you agree to what RCA want now, it weakens 19's position. I think there's some personal grudge stuff going on in there, too, one of the new RCA suits just came from Jive and there's all kinds of backstory, trust me, you don't want to go there, but anyway. Just go into the meeting and tell them you really don't feel you can commit to the schedule right now, you can talk about artistic freedom or whatever you want, doesn't matter, the important thing is, don't agree to it. Say you need to get the tour finished first."

"Sounds good to me," said Adam, amazed. It hadn't felt right to him, but he'd been willing to go along with the advice from his agent and the record company, they were supposed to know what they were doing. He'd learned an enormous amount about the practical/creative side of the business, how to put a show together, how to put an album together, how to put a tour together, but these executive-class shenanigans were beyond him. "Thanks, babe." He leaned over to plant a kiss on Lance's nose. "Maybe I'm supposed to be angry with you, but I'm just. Wow."

"You're not mad at me?"

"So very not. God, what a relief!"

* * *

 **Red Tulip  
 _Believe me; declaration of love_**

Despite Adam's obvious approval, Lance was feeling a shade guilty at having rearranged his life without asking first, and vowed not to interfere again. The rest of the day went well. He kept out of the way during the meeting, sitting on the bed working on a couple of reports, and declined to attend soundcheck on the grounds that Adam certainly didn't need him there and he could get some emails done. They had a merry meal together before the show. Adam was a lot more relaxed already, with a good night's sleep behind him—Lance was happy to take the credit for that—and no punishing schedule to fret about.

He watched the show, of course, from a discreet vantage point backstage, and was blown away afresh by Adam's sheer strutting presence, the way he ruled the audience and flirted and teased them all, the incredible range and power of his voice. The perfect, slutty way he moved his hips. To his regret, he couldn't stay for the encores, but boarded the bus tidily ahead of time so that Adam could make a quick getaway.

 

"I was hoping you'd be naked," Adam said with a grin as he came on board, visibly alight with the excitement of the performance.

"Thought about it," said Lance, reclining on the bed with a magazine and wearing only T-shirt and boxers. "But I wasn't sure what your bus routine would be."

"Eh, I'm kinda rank. I'm gonna shower."

 

Adam emerged from the shower wearing the most magnificent robe Lance had ever seen. He blinked and shaded his eyes. Adam stuck out his tongue, sat down on the bed and put a hand on Lance's thigh. Lance had discarded the boxers and T-shirt.

"So, Mr I-can-help-you-relax. What are we going to do tonight?"

"Whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?"

"Anything."

"Lance... "

"Well, I have limits, but you already know what they are." Lance looked at him steadily.

"No pain, no humiliation, no intricate things with string." Adam grinned but did not snicker at that last part. Lance was impressed.

"And I figure," he said, "you don't seem to want to ask for those things anyway, so. Anything you want."

"Even handcuffs?"

Lance nodded.

"Really?" Adam looked at him searchingly. "I wouldn't, I mean..."

"I didn't trust you then," Lance told him, and it earned him a kiss.

"You looked so fucking beautiful," Adam murmured. "I want to do that again, properly. We will. But," he sighed, "I didn't bring the cuffs."

Lance smiled, and leaned over for his duffel. It was mostly unpacked already, but... "I don't have handcuffs," he said. "The bedposts are too big. I have these." He produced four coils of thin, flexible rope and laid them on the bed. "More practical."

Adam breathed an almost reverent sigh as he drew one of the ropes through his hand. "You like being tied up," he said thoughtfully.

"Mmm. Everyone deserves to be the center of attention sometimes," Lance said. "Being tied up means you don't have to do anything. Just be—pleasured. The other guy gets to do all the work. And I like tying my partner up and enjoying his pleasure, seeing how much I can give him. Sauce for the gander, and all. And I thought, either way, we might find these useful. So, Adam. What do you want?"

* * *

Lance seemed to have appointed himself bus chef, for when Adam awoke the next morning he was presented with freshly brewed coffee, and informed that breakfast would not be long.

Adam set the coffee on the bedside locker and circled Lance's wrists with both hands to tug him closer. There was a tiny, conscious smile on Lance's face as he knelt on the bed and bent down for his good morning kiss. He really had been beautiful last night.

"Your turn next time."

Adam narrowed his eyes and raised a brow, trying for intimidating, but apparently not achieving it. Lance just laughed at him and escaped to go scramble some eggs, and a few minutes later Adam, in his gorgeous robe, settled at the little table to eat.

"I could get used to this," he said happily. He didn't mind fixing his own breakfast, but this was nicer. "My very own cook and problem-fixer."

"I'm kinda taking over," Lance admitted. "I always used to do breakfast on our bus, when we had breakfast, anyway. Joey fixed dinner. Tell me how you like to run your day. I don't want to cause you extra stress by getting in the way, I'm here to make things easier on you."

"Could you get my tour manager to stop complaining about how much the costumes cost?" He was mostly joking, but Lance brightened.

"You wanna show me the budget? I like budgets."

"You are a sad, sad person." Adam thought for a moment. "I don't think we've overspent. Costumes matter, and I wanted them spectacular. And we agreed this stuff beforehand, but Maurice won't let up with the complaints."

"I'll take a look, and I'll talk to Maurice."

"Honestly, you don't have to do that. I know you have your own work to do."

"It's cool. I'm nosy, I like to know everything."

"Oh, and I almost forgot, I have something for you." Where had he—there it was on the couch. His favorite of the three tour designs, in Lance's size. Lance exclaimed in delight and promptly pulled off the T-shirt he was wearing so that he could don the new one. "You don't get to wear it tonight, it's a rest night."

"Well, damn," said Lance. "What are we going to do with ourselves?"

* * *

A couple of days later Lance announced that he thought Maurice was happy with things now, which proved to be true.

It was a nice feeling, that someone was there just for him, someone with no financial stake and no reputation to uphold, just someone looking out for him. He mentioned this to Kris that afternoon when Kris called just after soundcheck.

 _There you go, business people can be cool, too._

"I guess they can. Lance is pretty cool."

 _See, Uncle Kris always knows best. Uncle Kris happens to be a business major, so..._

Adam laughed. "I am taking your advice," he promised. "I'm just gonna see what happens."

* * *

Saturday morning, en route to Boston, MA, and Adam woke with a delicious langour in his limbs, a feeling of perfect well-being, and a sense-memory of soft rope around his wrists. Beside him, Lance was still serenely asleep. Adam stared down at the messy faux-blond head next to him. Lance had been so, so _intent_ , last night, so focused. Adam found it easier to understand, now, why Lance had panicked and run when they'd tried the handcuff thing before. Lance hadn't trusted him enough, then, and he'd probably been right. It was a lot to handle, it was almost terrifying being the recipient of all that concentrated attention, he hadn't realized how hard it would be to give himself over completely to the receiving of pleasure and just accept it all.

Or how incredibly good it would feel when he did. Almost an out-of-body experience. He wouldn't tell Lance that, because Lance wouldn't get it and would just mock. Strange, that someone so pragmatic could take him so high.

There were adorable little waking-up grunts, and Lance's eyes opened.

"Hey," Adam murmured. "Sleep well?"

"Mmmm. Not 'wake yet." Fuck, but his early-morning voice was ridiculously sexy.

"And I thought you were a morning person."

"I worked hard last night. There's a lot of you to cover." Lance seemed to find Adam's height very pleasing. It was sweet. They'd have a proper-sized bed tonight, he had a stopover. Tomorrow Lance would go to the airport and Adam would get back on the bus and head for Philadelphia. He thought about trying to persuade Lance to stay longer, but it wasn't fair, Lance had his own work to do, and Adam didn't truly need him there any more. It was going to be hard to let him go, it had been a great almost-week, not just the spectacular sex but the other things Lance had done, little things like making sure he ate properly, occasional neck rubs, the way the problems that had been draining Adam's energy so badly had smoothed themselves out of the way. But now Adam was refreshed and ready for the rest of the tour, he was going to make the final two weeks the best ever. He'd even found time to write up a few ideas for songs.

"Next time I go on tour," Adam said, petting Lance's hair, "I'm putting you on retainer."

Lance raised himself on one elbow and looked down at Adam. "Don't think you can afford my fee," he said. How had Adam ever thought those eyes were hard to read? He could see everything in them now.

"I was hoping you might do it for..." he hesitated over the word, suddenly terrified, and made a last-minute substitution, "free."

Lance looked at him very carefully, and Adam felt a thrill of panic. He wasn't ready, he couldn't be sure. He was terrible at relationships. "Well, you know," Lance said, "I don't do anything for free. But I will," and he grinned, "go anywhere for VIP tickets and a classy T-shirt. Ask anybody."

Adam grinned back, enormously relieved. "I think I can promise you VIP tickets and a classy T-shirt."

"In that case," said Lance, "sign me up." He settled back down against Adam's side, and Adam tightened his arm around him.

They snuggled for a while longer, and Adam could just see the corner of Lance's mouth turned up in a tiny little smile. He loved that little smile. Eventually, he had to kiss it, and the snuggling seamlessly turned into making out and then hot, sticky, joyful mutual handjobs.

*

At breakfast, Adam had what had to be a long overdue brainwave. "Lance. Tonight. Come on stage with me."

"That sounds like an awfully adult show," Lance said, blandly, not looking up from his newspaper.

"Bad Lance! No biscuit!" said Adam, startled into laughter. "Although, give the audience what they want, right?" Lance eyed him disapprovingly over the top of his glasses. Adam grinned. "We should sing together. Do _Flower_ , before you leave."

"I, wow," said Lance, faced with Adam's best persuasive face. "I haven't sung in front of people since... " He thought about it for a few minutes. Adam concentrated on his breakfast and waited for Lance's decision. "Oh hell, why not, let's go for it. Promise me we'll get a chance to rehearse. And do you have the words somewhere? I need to study up."

"You forgot the words?" Adam said, incredulous. He still knew the words for every song he'd ever sung. "I'll teach you."

"Best not," Lance said. "I think we might get distracted. I'll Google them."

 

They rehearsed before the fans were let in for soundcheck. Lance did okay on the words but he seemed to be holding back. Possibly he was nervous. "Can't you get a bit more, you know, hard-assed with it? Remember how you sang it in JC's studio. I want us all up in each other's faces for this song."

"More likely I'll be about level with your nipples," Lance said, "if you're wearing those ridiculous boots."

"Do not diss the boots," Adam replied automatically, but Lance had a point. So, after soundcheck, he had a word with his stage manager and arranged some adjustments for the encores. The raised step around the rear could be re-set forward most of the way to the front of the stage, like a catwalk. That should even things up a bit. And it'd keep him alert, he had a feeling he was getting a bit samey with the way he used the stage.

*

From the moment Adam strode onto the stage that night and opened his mouth to sing the first number, Lance knew it was going to be one of the special performances that show up like magic once in a while. He was on fire, the crowd was on fire, they loved each other, everything worked. Watching from his privilege vantage point, Lance got so caught up he forgot to be nervous and just enjoyed the spectacle of Adam being utterly and completely fabulous and let himself be mesmerized as always by Adam's hips. He was going to have to sneak back at the end of the tour and see the final show from out there, somewhere, if he could possibly swing it, somewhere he could be a part of the frenzied crowd and really feel the atmosphere.

*

By the end of his second encore Adam was on an incredible high, and the crowd went into a frenzy when he asked if they wanted just one more number.

So he and Lance did _Flower_ just the way he'd imagined it, facing off on opposite sides of the stage and gradually meeting in the middle, fierce and hard and angry, and he had a handful of petals which he crushed and let fall, and Lance had to step onto the catwalk so they ended up nose to nose, _I want to fuck you like a dog I'll take you home and make you like it,_ and the roof practically came off the building. He stood there, glaring into Lance's eyes, Lance's wide black pupils, Lance was just as turned on as he was, and Adam had a sudden impulse to kiss him hard, right there on the stage. He thought about what the audience would do—and what Lance would do. Okay, so, not. No public stuff. But he didn't know how he was going to make it back to the hotel room.

He grabbed Lance's hand instead and they bowed together under the tumult of applause, and ran offstage. Lance pushed him back on for one last bow, and when Adam got back to his dressing room Lance had banished everyone else, because he was smart that way, and he got his clever, clever hands straight to the fastening of Adam's pants and said, "Do you want me to blow you or do you want to fuck me?" and Adam said, "I have to choose?" so they did both.

* * *

Sunday morning, and his ride to the airport would be here soon. Lance rolled his T-shirts and boxers into neat sausages and re-packed his duffel. As he coiled the ropes, he glanced up to Adam, sitting cross-legged on the bed watching him, and grinned. "No, I am not leaving these here. You'll have to make other arrangements." He slid the coils neatly into the slim front pocket of his bag. Was there anything he'd forgotten?

A moment later Adam had slid off the bed and pulled him upright into a tight hug. "I don't want you sleeping with anybody else."

Lance blinked. "Okay," he said, surprised. Pleased.

"I'm serious. I don't want—you'll just have to survive on phone sex and toys until I get back to LA, you hear me?"

"Okay," Lance said again, trying not to beam. Adam was being possessive. It made him feel warm and sappy and he should probably try to keep some kind of cool, here. Things were going so very well, he didn't want to screw it up by going too far, too fast. Adam wasn't ready.

Adam looked at him, uncertainty written all over his face.

"I can do that," Lance assured him.

"And I, you know. Same deal for me, I won't."

He looked as though he honestly believed Lance might not agree. Or might not care. Maybe keeping cool wasn't important after all. Maybe waiting for the right time didn't even matter. Maybe it was more important to make him understand. "Adam," Lance said, picking his words carefully, "I don't want anybody else. I'm not going to say anything you don't want to hear, but you know I don't need the VIP tickets and the free T-shirt, right? Wherever you want me, I'm there. So," he hugged tight and spoke fiercely into Adam's ear, "you just keep on being awesome for the rest of your tour and you come find me the second you get back to LA, okay?"

There was a knock at the door.

"My car's here, baby. Gotta go." He pressed a quick kiss on Adam's lips and stepped back. Grabbed his duffel. Headed out.

 

He was belted in and ready to go when Adam hurtled down the steps and skidded to a halt next to the car. Lance pressed the button to open the window, and called to the driver to wait just one second.

"Lance—I just. I wanted to say. I love you too."

He was out of the car in what felt like no time at all and so tight in Adam's arms he couldn't breathe for a moment. "I really have to go," he muttered, and they unwound, and he got back in the car, and this time it really did leave.

 

At the airport, he got out his cellphone and ordered another delivery for Adam. This time, he thought, he'd send roses.

# 2\. Outtakes

 **some day he may buy me a ring, ring-a ling-a**

 _One of those phone conversations they had while Adam was touring. (This one lacks a flower title as it was written rather later, and for a songfic meme.)_

"Hey, babe. Good show tonight?" Lance settled onto the bed as Adam's excitement spilled over the phone. He'd watched the show often enough that he could see it clearly in his mind, Adam glittering and gleaming in the spotlight, and the entire audience prepped and ready for him.

"Yeah, I miss you, too," he said. "You're ready to relax now, right?"

"If I can't have you in my bed, your voice is a fine substitute," Adam said. "If they ever make a talking sex toy..."

"Look under your pillow."

"What? Huh. How'd you do that?"

"I bribed your PA," Lance said, as Adam tore the wrapping off his gift. She'd been helpfully conspiratorial, intercepting the package and hiding it there.

"Mmm, nice! Although, I don't actually need a cock ring while you're in LA and I'm still touring."

"Put it on," Lance said. "Stand in front of the mirror. How does it look?"

"It looks good," Adam said after a moment. "I love the shiny texture. Bling for my cock, who'd have thought?"

"It reminded me of you," Lance said, lazily.

"So... what do I do now, hmm?"

Lance chuckled. "Now, you tell me how it feels. Tell me everything."

 

 **Acacia  
 _secret love, hope_**

 _a slightly alternate timeline to the one presented in Bouquet. Set somewhere in the last quarter of the story._

"Let Daddy talk to Lance again now, honey." Joey relieved his daughter of the phone and she skipped back to the TV. "Hey, Lance. Thought you might need rescuing." Lance laughed but did not actually deny it. "So tell me, how is it going with Adam?"

 _Oh, it's great. Yeah._

"You don't sound like you mean it."

 _No, I do. It's just. You know._

"C'mon, spill. You know you want to."

Lance sighed. _It's great, but he—he wants someone to have fantastic sex with._

"That's not a problem, is it?" said Joey, promptly. "Fantastic sex is good, right?"

 _No, but. You know me. I just want someone to love me._

"Ah." Oh, Lance.

 _Yeah._

"Just hang in there, okay?"

 _Oh, I'm hanging in there. I mean, you never know, right? Could happen._ Lance didn't sound like his normal, optimistic self, but Joey had nothing better to offer. _And he's so perfect for me, exactly what I want, I thought we were too different but it really works—anyway. I'm hanging in there._

* * *

"So, how's the thing with Lance?"

 _It's good, it's good._ Adam sounded just a little bit doubtful about that.

Kris smiled. "Y'all are so cute together."

 _Hey!_ There was muttering, presumably because Adam didn't care to be called cute. Even though he was.

"You get to see much of him , now you're touring?"

 _Not so much, but we talk a lot. He has the best voice for phone sex._

Kris burst out laughing. "I so did not need to know that!"

 _Just broadening your horizons, baby._

"It's sorta dating by phone, then?"

 _I guess. And it's good, it is, except. I don't know—I don't think he takes me seriously. He's always ready to talk, and stuff, and he's funny, you know, he's funny and he's really smart and he's great, but I think he just sees our, our relationship as something to pass the time. There's this... distance, always._

"And you want it to be serious."

 _It is serious. I'm serious. He just doesn't know it yet._

"Okay," said Kris. "You just hang in there. I mean, what chance has he got? He'll have to see how irresistible you are."

 _Yeah,_ said Adam. _He will. I'm gonna—yeah. I'm hanging in there._

 

*

 

 **Pink Hyacinth  
 _play_**

 _Set in the last week and immediately after the end of 'Bouquet'._

"I was wondering," Adam said, schooling his features carefully, "if you'd... wear a gorilla suit for me one night. When I get back to LA, I mean." He watched with secret glee as astonishment, horror, doubt, indecision and finally resignation chased across Lance's face.

"If you... really want me to," Lance said, "sure." He eyed Adam warily. "Do you?"

"A world of no," said Adam, and began to quake.

"Uh huh." Lance was blushing furiously. Then he pounced. Adam was laughing so hard he couldn't resist as Lance pinned him to the bed, licked his ears, and demanded sexual favors in return for mercy.

 

Later, almost asleep, the memory of Lance's expression flashed back into Adam's mind and he started to vibrate with laughter. He couldn't stop. He wheezed with joy. Tears trickled down onto the pillow. The bed shook.

"You are so, so dead," Lance promised.

Adam just laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

***

The following afternoon, after the fans were ushered out after the meet and greet session, a gorilla showed up. It carried a single daffodil, lumbered up to Adam and offered him the flower. He took it, trying not to grin, trying not to laugh, trying not to blush. Lance had powers. How had he gotten hold of a gorilla suit when they hadn't even been in Buffalo yesterday? "You can take off the mask, now, Lance," he suggested.

"Me? I'm right here!" Adam jumped and stared, then burst out laughing. Lance was behind him, smiling very sweetly at him, and not wearing the gorilla suit at all. Lance took out his billfold and handed something to the guy in the suit with thanks, and smirked. Adam was already laughing too much to upbraid him.

***

Lance was wearing his Adam Lambert tour T-shirt, and looking ridiculously good. Adam stared at the screen. Damn it, why was Lance on the West coast while he was here on the East? The interviewer was asking him about the T-shirt now, and Lance was confessing to having caught the show and that he thought Adam Lambert was awesome.

Adam couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face.

"And I understand you got up on stage there with him last night?"

"Oh! Hey, news travels fast. Yes, I was in Boston last night, he asked me to do _Flower_ so I thought, you know, why not. I had to Google the lyrics, I'm terrible at remembering the words, so. But yeah, we did the song."

"What a great surprise for the audience there in Boston, MA. How'd it feel? Been a while since you were on stage, right?"

"Well, singing, yeah, I mean, I was touring with _Dancing with the Stars_ last year so I've been in front of an audience, but it's been more'n two years since I sang in front of people, when I did _Hairspray_."

"I'm guessing this wasn't quite the same experience as being in a Broadway theater?"

"That is true."

"So did it feel good being up there again? All those screaming fans?"

"Yeah, sure, it was fun, but you know, I think they were screaming for Adam, not me."

"And what did you think of the rest of the show?"

"Absolutely incredible." Lance nodded wisely. "I love Adam Lambert," he said, right into the camera.

Adam was still smiling as he went to sleep.

***

If you were going to open your bus door anywhere to find a man in a gorilla suit and a bow tie with a gigantic basket of red roses waiting to greet you, Adam thought ruefully, then New York was the place it'd happen. There wasn't a card with the flowers, but it wasn't like he needed one.

He was snickering as he closed the door. Really, the memory of Lance's face... it was never going to grow old.

He managed—mostly—not to laugh as he thanked Lance for the flowers in their phone call that night. Tentatively he suggested that Lance might be able to come out to Florida for the final show of the tour, but Lance didn't seem at all sure he could make it.

***

He'd be glad to be done with the meet and greets, Adam thought. Most of the fans were cool but there were usually a handful who were so hyper they were a little hard to take. Still, fans, he certainly wasn't blasé enough to think they didn't matter, so he smiled and signed and posed and was as charming as he could be. One more of these tomorrow, and he could head back home for a rest.

There was a wave of giggling, and he looked up in surprise to see... Lance Bass, you are _relentless_ , he thought, as the gorilla loped towards him and offered him a single red rose. This gorilla was a bit more of a showman than the last one, it posed with him and the fans took pictures and giggled more.

Naturally Adam had no money on him, but he persuaded one of the PR girls to lend him a twenty, and pressed it into the gorilla's paw—paw? Hand? The gorilla hopped and bowed excitedly, but as Adam turned away, it tapped him on the shoulder. He turned back, and it pointed hopefully to its cheek, and tilted its hairy head. Oh boy. So he bestowed a kiss on its rubber face—there were going to be some very, very silly photos on the internet this week*—and it posed and clutched its heart and hammed it up until all the fans were hysterical, then loped off to where Maurice was standing by the door laughing like a loon, and disappeared.

"Looks like everybody's an Adam Lambert fan," said the next woman in line, and winked at him.

"I'm just that irresistible," he replied, and winked back.

 

About twenty minutes later he headed back to his bus for his quiet time. He'd call Lance. Possibly promise him a spanking, which he so very definitely deserved. He swung himself aboard, shucked off his shoes and headed for the sleeping section to find his cellphone.

Lance, naked Lance, was lying on the bed grinning at him.

Adam gaped for an astonished moment, then leapt. Lance huffed as most of Adam landed on him, but being breathless didn't seem to bother him when they kissed as though they hadn't seen one another in almost two weeks.

Eventually Adam drew back and leaned on his elbows. "You are such a liar. You told me you wouldn't make it!"

"I said I wouldn't be able to fly out tomorrow," Lance corrected him. "You think I'd miss your last show?"

"Man, it's good to see you," Adam said, suddenly serious. "Really good." He dipped down for another kiss, and stroked Lance's hair. "Why is your hair all wet?"

"Had to shower," Lance said. "It's really ripe inside a gorilla suit." He leaned over and plucked a twenty dollar bill from the bedside locker. "Earned this, too," he said.

  


* He was right. Two days later, Kris Allen found some, and nearly died laughing.

# 3\. Switch

"Hey, baby."

Adam opened one eye. "Hey."

Lance's warm—maybe that should be, hot—body snuggled against his side. Adam closed his eye again and insinuated his left arm under Lance's neck. "What time is it?"

"Almost noon."

"Huh." He must have slept about twelve hours. "Do I have to get up?"

"I was kinda working on the assumption you'd be up already."

"Keep moving that thigh and I soon will be. Mmm. Nice." Lance tasted of coffee and Lance-ness. "I should brush my teeth," Adam decided, and summoned up the willpower to get himself to the bathroom. With his boyfriend—and he was getting used to how that sounded in his head—naked in bed, there was plenty of incentive to get himself tidied up in a hurry.

He slid back under the covers. "Hi."

Kissing Lance was one of Adam's favorite things to do. Particularly when his hands found bare, silky skin wherever they went.

After a while he broke away, and stretched mightily. "I have no plans for today. No plans at all. God, that feels good." The tour had been great, but he so needed a rest.

"I have a plan." Lance rolled himself onto Adam. This was another of Adam's favorite things.

"A plan, huh?"

"Or, at least... You remember the first time we had sex?"

"Oh, yeah!" Adam shivered his hips, just for emphasis.

"And do you remember," Lance went on, grinning, "that when I asked you what you liked, you said, _everything_?"

Adam smirked.

"Was that true, or were you just showing off?"

"I guess, for certain values of 'everything'," Adam said. "I mean, I don't go in for serious kink any more than you do, but you know that."

"We never did get around to the watersports."

"I don't actually want to do that. I mean... do you?"

"Nope."

Adam settled back contentedly into the pillows. "I'm happy to stick with what the missionaries do. Oh my God, Kris did missionary stuff. I'll have to ask him if it's true."

Lance spread his legs to capture Adam's, possibly to prevent him from leaping up to grab his phone right away. Like there was any chance of that. Adam knew how to prioritize. "Yeah, I'd like to be out of the country when you do that," Lance said.

"No, no, you have to be there to protect me from Katy. She's little but fierce."

"Whereas you are a great big softie." There was a pause. Lance wriggled experimentally. "Okay, maybe not that soft."

"I hope this fits in with your plan," said Adam. His hips twitched, and so did Lance.

"Actually," said Lance, "there is something we haven't done yet." He raised himself up and looked down at Adam expectantly.

"Uh... Oh. I guess there is."

"Does that come under 'everything'? Or do you really not like to catch?"

"I, no, it's, sure. We can do that. Sure."

"Because I like to switch."

"Yeah, I—" Adam had kinda pretended he didn't know that, and it wasn't like Lance had been anything but enthusiastic about bottoming, so he wasn't going to feel bad about it. But there were the fantasies, when he'd been alone on the bus with only toys for company and the memory of Lance talking him through what he was going to do, and, yes. Hell, yes. "I should have—you should have said something before."

"Eh, whatever. It's not like we actually spent that much time together, you've been a busy, busy superstar, and when we had the chance, your cock inside me was just too fucking good to resist. But now, we have some time. I just thought, you never asked, so you probably don't bottom much. So I'm thinking, you could tell me exactly how you want it."

"Topping from the bottom, as the saying goes."

"I figure that should keep you and your control issues satisfied," Lance said, and kissed him on the nose.

Adam instinctively began to protest the control issues thing, but Lance's expression told him he wouldn't get far. It wasn't really control issues, it was just...

"Unless you really don't want to," Lance said.

"No, it's good, it's fine. And I don't have to be in control, really. Um. If you could do what you said you were going to do, because I've been jerking off to that for months," Adam said.

"Uh. I did?"

"You don't remember?" Adam said, indignantly. "That first time, no, actually the second time we fucked? You were all Mister Porn Voice and totally in charge. It was incredibly hot."

"Oh, good. I'm glad it was hot. I wouldn't want it to be lukewarm or anything."

"Do not tell me you don't remember." Adam punctuated the question with little prods to Lance's vulnerable mid-section. Because, really, how wrong was that?

"Ow! Stop that! There will be no poking!" Just to make sure, Lance grasped Adam's wrists and held them back on the pillow. "Of course I remember. I remember the sex, I just don't remember what I said. Who remembers what they say while they're fucking?"

" _I_ remember what you said," Adam muttered. "I don't know about this. If you aren't going to do what you promised—"

"Baby, I can totally be in charge. And I promise you it will be incredibly hot." Really, it was so unfair Lance could even talk in that register. Adam had a feeling he had a voice kink. Just a teeny, tiny little one. Deep voices just... got to his lizard brain, or something.

He smiled lazily up at Lance. "I'm all yours."

"I," said Lance, "am the luckiest man in the world." They kissed some more, and really, Adam thought, if Lance wanted to get down to business right away, he definitely wasn't going to protest. He felt relaxed and open and ready for this. Lance, of course, had other ideas, and was soon nibbling carefully on Adam's earlobe. He didn't move down until Adam was whimpering.

Two fingers in Adam's mouth. He licked them obediently and watched Lance paint with wet fingertips around his nipple, and then blow across the tight, shiny surface. "Tease," he said, when he thought he could keep his voice under control.

Lance looked at him. "We could play Count the Freckles," he suggested, all innocence. Meaning, you want a tease, it gets way worse than this.

"Yeah—let's not." Adam did not have the patience for Count the Freckles. He might never have the patience for it. He had about a million freckles, and was happy to leave it as an estimate.

Lance chuckled. "Some other time, then." And bent to kiss, and suck, and apply his teeth, and oh, yes, that was good.

"You know," Adam said, after a while, "if you let go my hands, I could—"

"Not this time. This time is for me. You just keep still. No, wait, turn over." Adam rolled languorously onto his belly, and Lance caught his face before he turned completely, and kissed him again, and said, "You are so fucking beautiful, babe. So beautiful," and what could Adam do but melt into that? Except then, Lance started to kiss and lick his way delicately down Adam's spine, just like he'd promised, and Adam found he was talking, words tumbling out, he didn't know what they were except that he was pleading with Lance not to stop, and when he got his knees underneath him and Lance's hot tongue was pressed against his asshole, there weren't words any more, just crazed, desperate sounds spilling out of him. Adam squirmed helpfully, presenting his ass for more, because nicely spit-slicked fingers were teasing him now, playing with the tight ring of muscle, opening him for that wicked tongue. Adam spread his knees wider still, and begged shamelessly, and kept right on begging when Lance's fingers, lubed now, slid into him.

"On your back now, baby."

Groggily, Adam complied, and found he was being urged sideways on the bed, and Lance was pushing a pillow under his hips. His legs dangled over the edge as Lance busied himself at the nightstand. "Mouthwash?" Adam hazarded. Lance spat.

"Mmm. Multi-tasking," Lance said, mysteriously. He rolled a condom onto his cock, and stood between Adam's spread legs. "Ankles up on my shoulders, I think."

Adam found to his surprise that he could move his legs, after all, given the right incentive and a little help. And there was Lance's cock, heavy against his ass, and Lance grinning blithely down at him. Adam lifted his hips helpfully, and there, "Oh, fuck, yes, Lance, yes," and Lance's cock pushed inside, stretching him, filling him and sliding slowly deeper. It took him a moment, because he really didn't do this very often, and he felt a distinct twinge of panic at the sensation, but then Lance shifted and "Oh, god, yes, there!" it was very good indeed.

Lance set a slow, deep rhythm, and Adam couldn't quite get the leverage to quicken the pace, but he writhed on the bed, and plucked at his own nipples, and ran a commentary on how it felt and what he wanted Lance to do next, and Lance smiled and told him how gorgeous he was and kept things just a little bit slower than Adam wanted, and it was so good being kept on the edge like this. Until Lance said, "I've always wanted to try this," and slipped Adam's legs down, hooking his elbows under Adam's knees and pressing Adam's hips down with firm, determined hands. Lance made some quick, hard thrusts that had Adam gasping. And then, oh, fuck, then Lance bent down and closed his mouth over the tip of Adam's rock-hard cock, hot and wet and tingly from mouthwash, and that was all kinds of incredible. Adam wanted to move, to fuck himself up into Lance's mouth and down onto Lance's cock, he strained for it but he couldn't, not quite, he couldn't, he threw the rhythm off—so he gave himself up and let Lance take it all, let Lance fuck him and suck him until he was floating, drunk with pleasure. Lance's hands closed around his shaft and pumped him, and Lance thrust hard, deep inside him, and Adam screamed as he came.

When he woke up again, Lance was lying beside him, kissing his shoulder.

"God," Adam said. He was somewhat hoarse, he found. "We are so doing that again."

Lance smiled at him. "I'll remember you said that."

# 4\. Photoshoot

The morning alarm sounded, and Adam groped blindly for it. Godforsaken hour of the day to get up. "Grrrrrrr."

There was an interrogative murmur from the lump next to him under the covers.

"I hate photo shoots," he explained.

A small eruption in the bed, and Lance's face emerged, hair every which way. "What's so bad about photoshoots?" he asked, sleepily. "You like dressing up. Who's this one for, anyway?"

"The _Vogue_ interview. I think they're going to want some, um. Skin on display." Which was, of course, the problem.

"Mmm, nice," said Lance.

"Oh, yeah, right. Because I just love showing off all my flaws at once. Give me full coverage and sixteen layers of Max Factor any day."

"I like the natural look," said Lance. Looking at him. With appreciation.

"That's different. You're supposed to. You love me."

"That I do. Come here."

"I have to get—mph!" Okay, being kissed was not exactly a hardship, but—"I have to shower." He slid reluctantly out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

 

"I really hate photo shoots," Adam repeated as he came back into the bedroom, clean and damp, and scuttled across to the dresser to root out clean underwear. He'd been instructed to wear Speedos to the shoot, or something else that wouldn't leave a line. He had a gloomy foreboding about this. They'd want to put him in plastic shorts, or fish scales, or whatever. Something a little bit ridiculous, with a thong underneath if he was lucky. At least he wouldn't need a sock.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"No, I guess." Except he kinda did. Fucking _Vogue_. If their photographer wanted to shoot him stark naked in full sunlight, that would be what happened. "I just... I wish..." He straightened. "I wish this wasn't part of the deal, you know?"

"I don't really understand what you're so scared of. Seriously. You are beautiful, you know."

"Mm."

"You are. Can all those screaming fans be wrong?"

"They can keep right on thinking I'm beautiful if they only see me with my clothes on."

"Full coverage and the Max Factor, I know." Lance sat up. "You really don't need it."

"Oh, God, I do. I really do. I'm fat, I have horrible skin, I have a million freckles ten seconds after the sunlight hits my back. Nobody needs to see that." He turned back to the search for the right underwear.

"They should slip me the camera," Lance said. "Looks just fine from here."

Adam looked over his shoulder, irritated. "Sez you, the guy with perfect skin and a tiny waist and amazing arms."

"And a lazy eye, and wide, womanly hips and stumpy little legs."

Adam stared at him. "That's ridiculous." He sighed. "Look, maybe I'm okay looking now. I mean, the hair's a big improvement over my days as a redhead." Lance muttered something that was probably _I like your red hair_ , but Adam decided to ignore it. "It's just, I spent the whole of high school being fat and ugly. It's kinda hard to get past that."

"You're talking to the guy who spent half his teenage years looking like an alien, or Ellen Degeneres' girly kid sister. And being photographed next to Justin Timberlake."

"You were cute," said Adam.

"I was an alien," Lance said, firmly. "Besides, you're not a teenager now. And you've done lots of photo shoots. What's the big deal?"

"I just. It's. I don't. I feel sexier with a—a costume. You know?" Silk and leather, chains, feathers, something stylized, something like a disguise, something that would hide Adam inside Glambert. Glambert was sexy, Glambert was a performance. Adam didn't want to be on display. Well, he did, but not naked.

"Okay." Lance threw back the covers. He was so fucking beautiful. It was easy not to be scared of photoshoots when you looked like that. "I have something for you." And Lance folded to his knees and opened his mouth, warm and welcoming, over Adam's cock.

"I don't, um. Have time for." Although, not like they were going to start without him... he could eat breakfast in the car. "Oh. Mmmm. Baby. Mmm." He leaned back against the dresser and stroked Lance's hair, soft and product-free after last night's shower, and let Lance bring him up. Prickles of stubble against his shaft and balls, saliva-slick lips mouthing down and up and over and around, hot velvet tongue everywhere. Lance's hands took firm hold and his mouth moved sideways, kissing the soft skin just inside Adam's hipbone, nipping sharply. Sucking. Hard. "Ow!" Adam looked down in dismay. "That's gonna bruise!"

Lance inspected his work. "Yep." He levered himself to his feet. "And you'll feel it. Any time you stop feeling like you're the sexiest man in the world—which by the way you are—you put your thumb right here," he guided Adam's hand to the tender spot, "and remind yourself."

"Ow!"

"And when you need to think about something other than what you're doing for the camera, think about what you're going to do to me tonight to pay me back for not finishing you off now."

"Mmm, I—what?"

"You don't have time," Lance said, gently. There was an evil gleam in his eyes. "You mustn't be late. It's not professional."

*

It wasn't the worst photo shoot in the world after all, even if Steven—the photographer—was a lunatic. At least, Adam got the underclad boys, though he could have done without the comparisons, but why were there Greek nymphs?

The bruise on his hip went a long way to help Adam forget he was surrounded by perfect bodies while clad in drapery that had apparently been attacked by locusts. To distract himself from the cameras, he developed several complicated revenge scenarios for later.

After the third bewildered giggle from one of the female models, and the second direct proposition from one of the guys, Adam decided not to think so, er, hard about retribution for Lance. This was not that candid a photo shoot, even if he was wearing something more like a shredded tennis net than actual clothing.

Eventually the array of models went off to get dressed and they were into the final set-up of the day, Adam's solo shots. And if there was anything worse than being photographed alongside a dozen or so spectacular bodies it was being photographed solo while wearing macramé. So it was either think about what was happening or think about giving Lance exactly what he deserved. Forget the complicated scenarios, Adam decided, he'd keep it simple. Spread open, tied to the four bedposts, and begging. Lots of begging.

Adam contemplated a bit more and added a cock ring, black leather, to the honey gold image in his mind. Perfect.

Adam smiled.

"Perfect. Fucking perfect," said the photographer.

# 5\. The Adam Lambert Experience

"So. Chris is having a Halloween party."

"He is?" Adam said, startled. Lance knew about this before he did? "Wait, who?"

"My Chris, not yours. Chris Kirkpatrick. It's a charity thing for his foundation, he does it every year, calls it the Mask Care AID or some such. Everybody wears a mask. It's kinda fun. Anyhow, I said I'd go."

"Oh, okay. When is it?" Lance looked at him pityingly. "I mean, is it on Halloween or a different night?"

Lance smirked. "Actually it's October 26th. You want to go?"

"Sure. Well, I'll have to check my schedule, but if I'm free, sure."

"It's in Orlando."

"No kidding." Lance looked gratified, which he really didn't need to do because hey, of course Adam was going to go, if he could. It was one of the benefits of being well and truly out as a couple, they actually could be seen at clubs and parties together these days. He said so.

"Yeah, well, it also means that if I show up somewhere without the superstar on my arm, everyone has to pretend they aren't disappointed," Lance said, grinning, so Adam threw a cushion at him, and things deteriorated from there.

*

It was always good to come home and find Lance in his bedroom, but it was very, very strange to close in for a kiss and find he was looking up at him. The fuck? Adam paused on his way to Lance's lips, and scanned down.

"Why are you wearing my party boots?"

"Practice," said Lance. He took Adam's face between his hands and kissed him. Adam didn't remember ever being kissed—not this sort of kiss—by someone taller than himself. It was weird. Not bad weird, but. Weird.

"My feet are bigger than yours," he pointed out when he got his breath back. "You're going to break both your ankles."

"Yeah, probably," Lance said, and sat down on the bed with a grimace. "I'm going to have to get my own pair."

Adam assisted him out of the boots. "Shoe shopping," he said, happily. "I know just the place. Lance, not that I have any problem with you wanting major boots, but they are so very not your style. What are you doing?"

"My Halloween costume. I'm thinking of going as Adam Lambert," Lance said. Adam spluttered. "I figure I should be able to do a really authentic costume," Lance added, and smiled wickedly.

Adam thought it through. "I am not getting my hair cut like that," he said, ruffling his fingers through Lance's silly little spikes.

"You wanna go as Lance Bass? Isn't that a little tame for you? I thought you'd be going as Freddie Mercury, David Bowie, someone like that. Your perfect date?"

"Turns out Lance Bass is my perfect date, bizarre as that sounds."

"Only in reality. Halloween costumes are for fantasy. Who's your fantasy date?"

"Huh." Adam hadn't given it much thought. "Don't think I'd be a very convincing Lady Gaga. Madonna, maybe?"

"Still in your transvestite phase, then."

"I am not—ooh!" Of course! He smiled blissfully. The perfect Halloween costume. "Let's go shopping."

*

"Don't laugh! Damn, I forgot how much I hate heels," Lance muttered, as Adam lay snickering on the couch watching him stomp an ungainly path around the room. His new boots were awesome, black and multi-buckled and very shiny and made just for stomping. And the heels really weren't _that_ high, and the platforms were solid. Adam's new shoes were definitely more of a challenge.

"I bet you never wore heels before in your life," he said.

"You'd lose," Lance said, scowling at him. "And don't ask. Seriously, you can dance in these things? I can barely walk in them."

"You gotta learn to strut, baby," said Adam, emptying the last of his vodka and tonic and levering himself up to get more. "It's all about the attitude. Can't be Adam Lambert if you don't get the attitude right."

Lance snorted, stuck his chin in the air, stole Adam's drink and clomped around the room again. It was like watching a duckling trying to be macho, especially when Lance fell over.

*

Lance was really into this whole Adam Lambert costume thing. He practiced with the new boots every day, and had taken to scrutinizing every outfit Adam wore with a covetous eye, and trying his clothes on every time he was at Adam's place. In retaliation, Adam refused to tell Lance what his own costume would be. "It's astounding," was all he would say.

Heh.

*

The huge, corkscrew-curled wig was going to be horrendously hot, but it couldn't be helped. Eyelashes, makeup, glossy crimson lips. Adam looked at himself in the mirror, and was satisfied. He was completely fabulous.

"Now, this is all wrong," Lance declared.

Adam turned and looked him up and down. "You know what, I have to disagree. It's very, very strange, but it ain't wrong." It was beyond strange, because Lance and Adam were nothing alike, but here was Lance in Adam's favorite leather jacket, his specially-purchased hyper-snug jeans held onto his hips by Adam's best studded belt, his own AL tour T-shirt stretched very nicely across his chest, his fabulous new boots, and a black wig. His eyes, most disconcertingly of all, were blue. Adam would have said the contact lenses were a step too far for a simple Halloween costume if Lance had not also had his ears pierced just so he could borrow Adam's favorite onyx earrings. He had, however, refused to do his own makeup, on the grounds that Adam was far more experienced at it, and had bitched the whole time he was having his eyes done.

He looked amazing.

"It's all wrong," Lance explained, "because we don't have time for sex before we go to this party."

"Oh. I guess not. Damn. And I just got the lipstick right," Adam said with regret, "or I could have blown you."

"It all adds to the authenticity, I guess," said Lance, adjusting himself with some difficulty through the jeans. "Shall we go to the ball?"

"Wait a second." Adam pulled his last item of costume out of the closet, a shapeless green surgical gown, and put it on, carefully adjusting his necklace of gigantic white beads to show over the neckline. He giggled helplessly at the look on Lance's face when he rolled pink rubber gloves over his hands. "Ready."

"I was all ready to pinch your fanny," said Lance, "but I'm not so sure any more. At least now you won't be arrested the second we walk out the door."

Adam stuck out his tongue as lasciviously as he could. "You got the masks?"

*

Arm in arm, they strutted into the Gibson Showroom. Lance was definitely working the Adam Lambert swagger tonight. Adam was actually a little bit stunned. Was it narcissistic to think Lance was the hottest thing on the planet tonight, when Lance was dressed as, well, him? Adam couldn't figure out whether this was good for his ego, or really bad for it. But it was a hell of a lot of fun.

This had to be Chris. They hadn't met since, wow, middle of last year at that brunch of Lance's, but Adam remembered the machine-gun laugh, and the masked figure in the circus ringmaster costume definitely looked familiar.

Chris paused in front of them, and his uncertain "Adam?" was an honest tribute to Lance's costume. And strut. The two of them looked down at Chris haughtily for a moment before Lance broke, with a "Hey, Kirkpatrick," and a hug. Nobody could mistake Lance's voice for Adam's.

"Fuck me rigid," Chris announced as he emerged. "Hi, Adam, thanks for coming, man." Adam converted his outstretched hand into a manly embrace of greeting, and said it was a pleasure. "Jesus, you're, like, eight feet tall."

"The shoes help," Adam said, and they both contemplated his fabulous strappy black and silver sandals, Chris probably with less awe than Adam. Straight men just did not get shoes. Admittedly these were killing his calves, but sometimes you just had to suffer in the cause of glory.

"Fatone!" Chris yelled. "Get over here!"

A gorilla lumbered towards them, and Adam looked at Lance reproachfully. Lance shook his head, grinning.

"Come up to the lab, and let's see what's on the slab!" said the gorilla, and Adam beamed as they hugged hello. Joey was a sweetheart, and anyone who not only grasped the true genius of his costume but spontaneously quoted Rocky Horror was a winner in his book. "Man, you look amazing," Joey went on, with great enthusiasm. "You gonna sing later?"

"Oh, uh—" Adam hesitated. He didn't want to upstage the actual hosts.

"Sing? You'll sing?" said Chris, sounding genuinely eager. "We're only set up for karaoke, but talk to the guys, see what they have."

"I—sure, okay."

"We should auction it, take a collection before we let him sing. Adam Lambert doing _Sweet Transvestite_ , everyone's going to pay to see that, right?" said Joey, with enormous enthusiasm. "And hi—uh—" He did the best triple take Adam had ever seen, from Lance's Adam face to Adam's own, and back, and back again. "Holy shit— _Lance?_ "

Lance preened.

*

It was a crazy night. The Showroom soon filled up, and Adam and Lance were besieged by fans wanting photographs and the chance of a little conversation. There were two fans, quite separately, who'd come as "Adam Lambert", and Lance insisted on having his photo taken with them both before he'd agree to let Adam into the shot.

Lance was definitely getting into his role. Watching him and the gorilla and the ringmaster doing the _Bye Bye Bye_ dance was completely hilarious. Adam did not think the original choreography had as much bump and grind as "Adam" was giving it. And then, when it was time for Adam to sing, Lance took over the microphone from Chris, and roused the crowd into a frenzy. He grudgingly allowed Adam to remove one pink rubber glove—revealing the way cooler glittery black fingerless glove underneath—when the count reached $250, and the second at $500, but insisted that the gown was not coming off until the total was $1,000.

"Y'all want to see what's underneath? Y'all want to hear him sing?" "Adam" ran his hand right the way down the front of the green gown, and Adam rippled in response. Then the shout came up, "We got it! One thousand and thirteen dollars!" and the crowd cheered.

"Adam" took his time untying the waist strings of the green surgical gown (and groped him surreptitiously underneath it) before he encouraged Adam to twirl out of the thing to reveal his full glory—glittery cross-laced vest, tiny black shorts, garter belt and sheer black stockings. "Adam" put the microphone firmly into his hand, kissed him hard on the mouth, smacked his butt and said, "Hit it, baby!" as the intro began to blare through the speakers.

And he let rip.

When—eventually—the excitement died down, he sashayed across to Chris, Joey, and Joey's tiny, curvy wife. Kelly applauded as he approached, and he beamed at her and bent for a hug. "Very nice," a voice growled into his ear, and there were impertinent hands on his bare thighs. Adam squirmed, and Lance laughed but did not let go until Chris passed each of them a tall glass of something gaudy with umbrellas and fruit.

"Get a room, guys," Chris advised.

"Mmm. Not until midnight," said Lance, sipping his drink.

Damn, Adam thought. It better be midnight soon.

*

"My poor feet," Adam moaned as they closed the hotel room door behind them. '"I have to get out of these shoes."

"Sit."

Gratefully, Adam sank onto the bed. Lance lifted one foot and carefully removed the shiny sandal, then gently massaged Adam's sole. It was bliss, and when he repeated the performance on the other foot Adam moaned with delight. "Babe, that's so good. Is there no end to your skills? Mmmm. I am so fucking hot in this wig." He pulled the curly monstrosity from his head and hurled it aside.

"You're fucking hot all the time."

"Is that why you kept feeling me up all night? Not that I object..."

""Authenticity is important," Lance said, blandly. "And we had to give the fans a thrill."

"I've created a monster," Adam said contentedly, lying back on the bed. "You were amazing tonight. Verrry sexy." Adam was probably all kinds of twisted for finding Lance-as-Adam so fucking hot, but now was not the time to worry about that. Now was the time to arch up on the bed so that Lance could not possibly fail to notice the effect he was having.

"Uh huh," said Lance, getting to his feet again. "Which brings us to the interesting question of the night, doesn't it?"

"What question is that?"

"Do I take the costume off before I fuck you, or after?"

"Oh," said Adam, weakly, "fuck." Lance _noticed_ things.

Lance smiled, a disturbingly predatory smile that looked awfully familiar, that looked as if it belonged with that hair and those blue outlined eyes. It went straight to Adam's cock.

"Fuck," Adam said again. His brain seemed to have shorted out.

"I will," 'Adam' promised. "But first, you're going to blow me. Come here."

*

Adam lay on the bed, heavy-limbed and sated. He felt. He felt— _ravished_. Totally. His eyelids were too heavy to lift. Even the stickiness beneath his belly where he'd come wasn't enough to make him move. He tried a deep breath instead.

Above him, the warmth lifted, and there was a kiss on the back of his neck and a sigh as he pulled slowly out. Adam made a small noise of protest.

"Shhh, baby," said Lance, sounding like Lance again. "Shit. Now I have to get out of these ridiculous pants. I need a scalpel."

Adam felt he should watch, Lance getting naked was always worth seeing, but it seemed like way too much work to turn his head. He lay there instead, spreadeagled and spent, clutching the pillow, and breathed. There were rustles and grunts and sundry dismantling sounds, until at last Lance's hands at Adam's sides urged him onto his back, extracted the sodden towel from under him, and wiped him clean. A moment later, Lance was in the bed, radiating heat.

Little kiss on the lips. "How do you feel?"

"Like an invading army just went through," Adam muttered. He'd never, they'd never, not like that before, not overwhelming like that, not _owned_.

"Good."

"Good?" Adam couldn't find the right way to describe how he felt right now, devastated, maybe, thoroughly fucked, certainly, but good was just... inadequate. His brain was still spinning.

"Now you know," said Lance. "The Adam Lambert Experience."

"Umm. Um. I, um."

"Babe? Are you okay?"

He laughed helplessly. "Okay? Yeah, I guess that about covers it. But. I. Do I—when I—do you always feel like—"

"Like an invading army just went through?" Adam wasn't sure if he wanted to know that he fucked like an invading army. He didn't think he did, but. He hadn't thought he was a total narcissist either, and he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off 'Adam' all night. "Adam? Don't think so loud. I love you. Everything's fine."

Lance's eyes were green again, and smeared with traces of eyeliner, and so beautiful, and just now looking kinda worried, which was all wrong, because Adam might be totally thrown by his own reactions but that didn't mean he wasn't completely satisfied with how things had turned out. He wriggled closer, and Lance wrapped his arms around him.

"You just keep surprising me, don't you?" Adam said. "I mean, how did you even—I didn't know I wanted to be, I mean, what was that?"

Lance smiled. "Every gay man in the world wants to be fucked by Adam Lambert. Why should you be an exception?"

"Er..." Actually, that sounded reasonable. "Hmm."

Lance grinned. "And every other gay man wishes he _was_ Adam Lambert."

"Definitely bad for my ego," Adam grumbled. "I'll be unbearable to be around, you know that, right?"

"Yeah. Unbearable. Aren't you glad I love you anyway?"

"I really am."

# 6\. Feast, or, What every gay Jewish boy wants for Christmas

 **What's on the Menu?**

"So, um, Adam, I've been wondering." Lance slid down onto the couch and patted Adam's knee.

Uh oh. Here it comes, Adam thought, and set his coffee down on the low walnut table in front of him. He'd been dreading this moment for weeks now, because what was he going to do? Lance was going to invite him home to Mississippi for Christmas, and how was he supposed to deal with that? Meeting Lance's parents... had to happen sometime, probably, but from everything he'd heard Lance say about them, Christmas would involve going to church, and prayers over the meal table, and all kinds of assumptions that just didn't...

"What do you do on Christmas?"

"Hello? Jewish," he replied, deliberately flippant.

"Well, duh," said Lance, "that's why I asked. If you were Christian I'd have known what you did on Christmas, you'd be home with your family opening gifts and eating too much."

"Oh. Right."

"So?"

"I'm not even sure what you mean, exactly. I mean, I don't celebrate Christmas, so..."

"No, but. Practically the whole country does, so I thought you might, I don't know, have a tradition of your own, like maybe you invite friends over who don't celebrate and all get drunk together, or, or do movie marathons, or something. What I'm trying to ask is, do you have plans?"

"I—no. The cliché is that Jews go out for Chinese food, I guess, but I don't have—there isn't any special tradition," Adam admitted. Oh, hell. If it would make Lance happy, he could sit through the Christmas stuff. They wouldn't really expect him to go to church, would they? And if they did, how bad could it be? Jesus was a nice Jewish boy, too.

Yeah. Except Lance was from Mississippi.

Adam braced himself to receive the invitation with a smile.

"Okay," said Lance. "Because I thought, if you, I mean, I've given this a lot of thought, and it seems like it'd be fun, but if you don't want to, that's okay too."

He realized with a thrill of horror that there was no way Lance's conservative Christian parents were going to let the two of them share a bedroom in the parental home. He couldn't believe he was going to go for this. He deserved sainthood, if they let Jews be saints.

"I thought," Lance said, "we could have a threesome."

...

 _What?_

He became aware that he was gaping like a demented goldfish, and that Lance was still waiting for some kind of answer. "I, I, you, that is so not what I, I wasn't—sorry, you kind of threw me completely here."

"Oh. Sorry. I guess I've been thinking about it for a while, I sort of forgot we didn't actually talk about it yet. But Christmas seems like a good time. I thought we could have him over for lunch or something, and ask him to stay, then we have the whole of Christmas Day to recover. Or keep going." He shrugged. Only Lance could look perfectly innocent discussing the practicalities of arranging a threesome. "And I know you don't do Christmas, so I thought, it'd be instead of an actual gift."

"You want to get me a threesome for Christmas? That is so thoughtful."

There was a wicked glint in Lance's green eyes. "I thought, is there anything Adam would like more than having two hot guys licking his cock at the same time, and you know what, I couldn't think of a thing." He ran his hand casually up the inseam of Adam's jeans.

"I think we're going to have to talk about this later. Right now I have to blow you."

"Damn, and I was all set to blow you."

"Good thing we can both multi-task."

  


Some time and two orgasms later, they struggled back onto the couch and flopped there, entangled, to recover.

Adam stroked Lance's face, skin like peaches and sparse designer stubble. "You know I don't need anyone but you. You do know that."

"Of course. If I didn't know for sure that you love me, I'd be holding on real tight and not letting anyone else close. You wouldn't be able to tell the difference between me and a Rottweiler."

Adam looked at Lance thoughtfully. "You have nicer teeth," he said.

Lance ignored this. "And I don't need anyone else either. I just thought it would be hot, watching you fuck somebody. Or, you know. Whatever."

"So many possibilities," Adam said, and chuckled. "I am so lucky, I can't believe it." It was just possible he was going to get really mushy over this. "So did you have anyone in mind for this Christmas gift?"

"Yes, I do. I thought about it quite a bit, like I said. It has to be someone cute and tiny, because you kind of miss out on that with me—"

"Not missing out on anything," Adam said, muffled against Lance's hair.

"No, okay. Still. It also has to be someone who isn't gonna expect to be, like, a part of what we have, but who won't be—we don't want someone who's, like, a fuck toy. That's not me and it's not you. So it has to be a friend."

"I like your reasoning. Good reasoning."

"And, we have to not fuck him up."

"I don't think we'd do that, would we?"

Lance tapped him gently on the nose, and Adam's eyes crossed for a moment. "You are pretty hard to forget," Lance said, gently. "I thought about asking Jai Rodriguez, because he's a sweetheart and he'd fall over himself to say yes to both of us, but I think it'd be kinda cruel."

Adam thought about that. He could see Lance's point. Jai was exceptionally cute (although, Adam thought guiltily, he'd been even cuter ten years ago), and Jai would have been all over Adam, or all over Lance, any time these last few years if they'd so much as smiled at him wrong, but. It would be kinda cruel. Jai would want more, and it wasn't there for him. "Is it even possible to find someone who fits your criteria? Which are good criteria, I agree, but seriously, is there actually anyone we could take to bed, really?"

"I was thinking of your crazy ex," said Lance.

There was only one person that could mean. Lance never got that exact tone in his voice when he was talking about anyone else. "Brad? _Brad?_ Seriously?"

"Mmm."

Because, thought Adam, he's obviously my type, won't expect anything more but will almost certainly say yes to a one-off, and will go his merry way afterwards without a qualm. "There's just one problem," he said. "You don't like Brad."

Lance shifted. "Brad doesn't like me," he corrected. "Probably I'm too normal for him."

Adam snorted, but Lance wasn't wrong. Brad thought Lance was dull, and said so far too often. He had a tiresome habit of announcing that Adam deserved better. Brad was oddly protective of Adam, which was ridiculous and also, Brad couldn't recognize happiness when it was staring him in the face, not if it didn't take the form he'd decided it ought to take, which was a problem Adam genuinely hoped he would grow out of one day. He seemed to think Adam was "settling" for Lance and didn't bother to hide his disapproval, which had made the rare occasions when he and Lance had been in the same place distinctly uncomfortable.

All of which made him a very unlikely choice to make up a threesome. Damn. Because, really... He looked at Lance, tried to figure out what had led him to the conclusion that Brad would work for this. "Are you sure? I mean, it sounds fantastic, but seriously, Brad? Why?"

"I respect him," Lance said, to Adam's surprise. "He's smart, he's funny, he's talented, and most important, he never sold you out." There was a wistful note in his voice. It must have been hard growing up as a superstar, Adam thought, being famous before you learned to tell the difference between people who wanted to be with you and people who wanted to exploit you. "Anyhow," Lance went on, "in a private situation like we're talking about, the exterior stuff doesn't matter, like, what I wear and stuff like that. I think we can get along. And we'll both be there for you anyway, so."

"You're multi-tasking again," Adam said in sudden recognition. "Saving money by not buying me something fabulous for Christmas, and getting Bradley to perceive the true wonder and glory of the Bass at the same time."

Lance's mouth twitched. "Plus, free porn," he murmured. "It'd just—it'd be way more convenient if he liked me. Besides, everybody likes me. I'm very likeable. He's just perverse."

Adam couldn't help himself, he laughed until he almost fell off the couch. "You know what," he said, getting himself under control and wriggling closer into Lance's grasp, "I think it's probably going to work. You'll have to get your alpha thing going and fuck him into next week, he likes that."

"No shit, Sherlock. Maybe I should wear the Adam wig?"

"No! Definitely not. Not with anyone but me. Even though he'd probably adore it."

Lance laughed. "So. Brad, then. You'd better find out if he's available."

"Next time someone wishes me a Merry Christmas, I'm going to pop the biggest boner," Adam said reflectively.

"Oh, you were planning on waiting that long? God, it's like having a teenager in the house," Lance said.

"Lance Bass, you shock me. Was that a complaint?" Adam rubbed hopefully against Lance's thigh. "Are you really telling me that talking about my fabulous Christmas present-to-be isn't a turn-on?"

"I'm gonna need medication," Lance grumbled, but Adam knew better than to take that seriously. Both of them seemed to be making up for their actual, very barren, teenage years—at least, Adam's had been kinda bleak. He wasn't entirely convinced by Lance's protestations that teenage Lance hadn't taken advantage of being a megastar. Lance had been awfully pretty when he was a teenager, even with the fried blond hair. Adam patted Lance's crotch in a proprietorial way and said he didn't think they needed to answer the internet ads just yet, Lance seemed to be doing just fine without help, and Lance poked him in the ribs. "Stay on topic."

"What topic? I'll give Brad a call in a couple of days, what else is there to say?"

"Maybe," Lance said, "we should plan. It would be embarrassing to get him here and not know what to do with him."

"I'm pretty sure I'll know what to do with him."

"The alpha thing."

"Yeah, that. Brad can be very, hm, pliant."

"Oh, good." Lance reflected. "He does have that sort of make me shut up kind of vibe."

"Or is that just wishful thinking?"

Lance laughed. "Maybe it is. I'll figure out how to keep him quiet."

  


 **Assembling the Ingredients**

Adam decided to mull over the idea for a while before he spoke to Brad. What with the whole "Lance Bass isn't good enough for you" thing, he had a feeling Brad would need a very carefully thought-out approach. One thing in its favor was that Brad had referred to Lance as 'decorative' once or twice. Adam was pretty sure that meant Brad had noticed Lance's physique, and was never going to admit he found Lance attractive. Adam really didn't want to blow this thing. Every time he thought about it he got extra happy, which meant he really had to concentrate on the tour planning meetings or they'd get embarrassing. Getting hard on stage was understandable (and mostly appreciated, if the internet stuff his friends liked to send him was any indication) but getting hard in the middle of discussions about sets and budgets, not so much.

Eventually, he decided he'd figured it out, and called.

"Hey, diva," Brad said.

"So I have two questions for you," Adam said. "Question one."

"Were you always this boring? Did I hallucinate each and every interesting conversation we ever had?"

"You could wait until you hear the questions."

There was silence.

"Are you still there? Don't roll your eyes. Question one, do you have plans for Christmas?"

"That was question two. Question one was, are you still there, which I am. And I didn't roll my eyes," Brad said.

"You so did." Adam knew better than to believe that.

"And no, I don't have plans for Christmas. When do I ever have plans for Christmas? Someone always comes up with something way more interesting to do while most of America is making themselves miserable congregating with all their hideous flatulent relations and eating themselves into sugar shock."

"Your breath control is—have you been taking lessons? No, strike that, doesn't count. Second question, okay, third question," said Adam. "Do you have any communicable diseases?" He could almost hear Brad sit up straight and pay attention.

"Why, honey, is that a proposition? As it happens I am free of any and all communicable diseases. I have paperwork and everything."

Adam chuckled. "Christmas," he said in his most sultry voice. "Don't make other plans." And he hung up before Brad had time to formulate the barrage of questions that would no doubt be texting their way to him in about… five seconds' time.

Heh.

  


With all the promo Adam was doing—Lance too, he had a new film to launch and was trying to be everywhere at once—there was no difficulty in evading Brad's questions. And then, amazingly quickly, it was December 24th.

  


Born to slink, Adam thought to himself as Brad slid into the car next to him and stretched provocatively, a wondrous sight. Brad was wearing a black wifebeater in something indefinably not-quite-shiny, sprayed-on black pants and—Adam glanced down and saw turquoise toenails—flip flops. Obviously dressed for easy access, except for those pants, which were going to take serious work. Adam wasn't sure Brad would be able to sit—no, he'd managed it. Still, the overall effect was very fine indeed. Brad was all about the sex today. Adam placed a silent bet with himself that there was nothing but skin underneath the pants, and very nearly purred as he started the car.

He was feeling vaguely guilty that he had not, in fact, told Brad he was being lured into a threesome. Somehow, the words, _You know you despise Lance? Well, let's all have sex anyway, it's Christmas!_ had not formulated themselves into something he could actually say. He'd spent quite a lot of time trying for the perfect phrasing, the perfect tone—light and breezy, dark and sensual, matter-of-fact—and not convinced himself with any of them. But it wasn't going to matter. With Brad slinking like that, he was most likely going to say, _mrow, bring it on_. Brad loved sex. Brad had—Adam knew this, and it had been quite hard to deal with at the time—had threesomes before. Brad would love this.

Anyway, it'd take them at least twenty minutes to get to Lance's place. The opportunity was bound to come up.

"Seatbelt," he said. "You're way too pretty to go through the windshield."

"When you put it like that, sweetie," Brad said, and did up his seatbelt.

It was strange, knowing he was about to have sex with Brad again, and not… the excitement, the wild perfection they'd had together, the heady exhilaration of his first love, at the time it had seemed to be destiny, that they were supposed to spend their lives together. It wasn't exactly surprising that they'd burned out like a Fourth of July firework display. Maybe the real miracle was that they were here now, honestly and truly friends. Adam would never entirely stop loving Brad, but that edge of desperation he used to feel was softened into affection and a whole lot easier to deal with.

He'd never quite be able to look at Brad and not _want_ , either, Brad's slender, perfect body being the personification of Adam's physical ideal. He smiled just a little as he pulled into the line of traffic. Oh, fuck, he was so looking forward to this. Because now, there was Lance, not at all what Adam had always thought he wanted, but somehow a better fit. Not fireworks, bright, glorious and ephemeral, but something solid and real. And it was Lance who was offering him this, inviting someone else into their bed simply because it would give Adam pleasure. It was going to give Lance pleasure, too, he was going to love fucking Brad, Brad took it so beautifully and loved it, Brad was going to love Lance's cock in him.

They were quiet for a few minutes, until Brad asked: "So, what happened to the straight acting boyfriend?"

Adam sighed. He was getting a bit ahead of himself, skipping the awkward scene that they'd have to get through before they got to the good stuff. "You know, there has to be a statute of limitations on that," he said, which touched off a vague memory in his mind of someone else saying it to him.

"I never did get what you saw in Lance Bass. I mean, seriously? Boring has-been talentless pretend popstar with nothing but his looks to live on, and aside from the music business you have absolutely nothing in common."

"Not talentless, just because he doesn't want to go solo," Adam said.

"All he had to do before Timberlake left Nsync in the dust was smile and dance and look pretty."

"There was _Flower_ ," Adam reminded him. Adam was still proud of that song, and the way Lance had stepped up for his part. Poor baby, he'd been terrified, though Adam hadn't known it at the time. "Anyway, he does other stuff now. He has a production company."

"And people to do the work for him," Brad said.

Adam sighed again and shook his head. He knew better, but telling Brad some details of Lance's life (that weren't really his to tell) wasn't the way to get him to revise his opinions. But he had not failed to notice that 'look pretty' snuck in there.

"So, where did he go?"

"Lance? He's at home."

"Ah. Right, of course, good wholesome boy goes back to Mississippi for Christmas."

"I thought he wanted to take me to meet his parents for the holiday," Adam said, shaking his head at the memory. He opened his mouth to inform Brad that Lance had not gone anywhere, but Brad began to laugh.

"I can just see you sitting down at the table with a proper Southern family. Hey, wait," he said, suddenly indignant, "you mean, you didn't meet his family? At all? He met yours, though, didn't he?"

"Of course he did. And yes, they do like him." Even Neil liked Lance. He refused to admit it, of course, but he'd been surprised by Lance's quietly wicked sense of humor, and fooled by those innocent wide eyes into assuming he could wipe the floor with Lance at poker.

"So he's good enough to meet your parents but you aren't good enough to meet his," said Brad. "You're well rid of him."

"I wasn't exactly looking forward to spending Christmas with them," Adam said, mildly. "I mean, we'd have had to sleep in separate rooms. Not my idea of a Christmas treat."

"Plus they'd hate you," Brad said in a matter-of-fact tone that hid a world of hurt. "They're from darkest Mississippi."

"They don't seem, I mean—I don't think they'd _hate_ me," Adam said. "I 'm pretty sure they're trying really hard to, to be right with Lance." And they'd done a good job raising him, anyone could see that, and he loved them, and…

"Yeah, 'cause that isn't uncomfortable at all."

"I'm lucky, but not everyone is." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "You do know that."

"If they were really trying to be right with Lance, taking you to meet them would be no problem."

Adam did not want to talk about this any more. He had enough insecurities of his own to worry about without Brad making them worse. He had been willing to adapt to Lance's parents, only Lance had not been planning to take him to meet them after all, and although the new plan for Christmas was way, way better than he'd thought it was going to be, he could not help wondering whether Lance was maybe… embarrassed to take his fabulously, flamboyantly gay boyfriend home. And he didn't want to think about that.

More to the point, he didn't want Brad brooding about what a schmuck Lance was, because that was not going to work at all.

"Let's forget about Lance's parents," he said.

"Fine with me. Did you see Danielle lately? Did she buy that coat? I told her she had to, but you know she never takes my advice."

"That's because she has some sense of decorum, unlike certain people I know."

"Oh, who wants to be decorous. Flaunt it while you can, is what I say." Brad lifted his feet onto the seat and admired his pretty toes.

I really need to tell him, Adam thought. He turned left at the next set of lights, and opened his mouth to explain what a _real_ Christmas treat would be.

"Wait—shouldn't we go down—where are we going?"

"Bed," Adam said, and grinned. Oh, the hell with it. Brad was going to find out soon enough.

"You did not move without telling me! Tell me you didn't get a new house! Are we going to a hotel? It'd better be five star, honey, this body doesn't put out on anything with less than a one thousand per inch thread count."

"You've gone upmarket."

"And aren't you the lucky one." Brad admired his turquoise toes for a few moments longer before asking, "So where are we going?"

"Lance's house."

"What, are we going to fuck in his bed?"

"That's the plan."

"Adam Lambert, are you developing some kinks at last?" Brad said, but without conviction. As Adam turned the Mustang through the gates and slowed to a halt close to the kitchen door, Brad was shifting uncomfortably in his seat—and probably not because of those delightfully tight pants.

"Adam. Baby. Listen, this isn't you."

"I—what?"

"This isn't you. You don't do tacky revenge scenarios. I know you better than that. If the stupid fucker dumped you, just wash him right out of your hair."

"Lance didn't dump me," Adam said. Maybe he wasn't playing this right after all. Brad's sudden seriousness was not at all the mood he wanted. "And I didn't dump him either, if you're wondering."

"So—what, you're sneaking me in for something on the side while he's away? I don't believe you. You'd never screw around on someone you care about."

"So you do think I care about Lance?"

"You've been together for months. It can't all be for convenience."

"I thought we were together for the publicity. Isn't that what you said?"

Brad looked at him patiently. "He's with you for the publicity. You're with him for… convenience seems to be the best name for it."

"Not really," Adam said. He got out, and ducked his head down to say, "It's really not. Come on inside. You'll see."

Brad stared at him, and slowly swung himself out of the Mustang.

And Lance opened the door.

"Hi," Lance said, and a very wicked grin spread across his face as he looked Brad up and down.

Brad stalked past Adam—quite an achievement, in flip flops—and as he approached Lance, the wicked grin melted off Lance's face to be replaced by something quite a lot like dismay. Cheeks having a hissy fit, Adam thought. Well, screw that. He followed them into the house, and grabbed Lance for a quick kiss as he kicked the door shut behind him. "Dogs?" he said, as there had been no rapturous welcome from Lance's puppies.

"In the yard. Adam—"

Brad had marched straight on into the kitchen and was standing there with his arms folded and his best death glare on his face. He looked so cute, Adam wanted to pick him up and carry him upstairs like Scarlett O'Hara. If it had been just the two of them he probably would have, sex had always been a great way to settle their arguments. Maybe that was why they hadn't been able to make it work, he thought, and the surprise of it shocked him immobile.

There was a pop, and a moment later Lance handed him a glass of champagne. "Welcome," he said to Brad, who blinked and found himself holding an effervescing crystal flute.

" _Chtob vse byli zdorovy_ ," Lance said.

Adam hoped he was toasting, not swearing. He drank anyway.

There was a moment of silence, then all three of them spoke at once.

"—explain to me, because what the fuck?" Brad—naturally—was the one still speaking when Adam and Lance had shut up.

"Adam," Lance said, mildly, "did you not ask him?"

Okay, it was time to take action. Adam put his champagne down, crossed the room and positioned himself behind Brad, pressing against him and winding his arms around Brad's tiny middle. "No," he admitted, "but I knew he'd say no if I asked him then, and I know he'll say yes now. Right, baby?" He was getting hard already, and wiggled his hips pointedly. Brad shivered in response. Of course. "I mean. Look at him." Lance was wearing a sage-green T-shirt with a V-neck, tight across his chest. Snug, faded jeans. Bare feet. Designer stubble and his hair a bedheady mess. He looked delicious. "Look at his arms, baby. Doesn't he have great arms? Imagine him holding you down. Imagine him fucking you. He's good, baby. You'll love it."

"Adam." Lance did not sound impressed. "You're being an asshole."

Adam bridled. He knew Brad a whole lot better than Lance, and yes, okay, he had failed to actually ask about the whole threesome deal, but he _knew_ Brad would go for it if only Lance didn't say the wrong thing right about now. But he unwound his arms from Brad's waist and went back to his champagne glass. He could use a drink. They could all use a drink.

"I'm sorry," Lance was saying. "I assumed you knew, and you agreed, or you wouldn't be here."

"False pretenses," Brad said. He did sip his champagne, though, and he was not shrieking with rage, or throwing sharp objects. So really, things were going well. Adam relaxed a bit too soon, because Brad went on, "I was all ready for some hot post-breakup consolation sex with Adam. I wasn't expecting you at all."

"And here I am," said Lance, calmly. "I guess you figured out that we wanted you to have sex with us. Both of us. Adam was supposed to make that clear. And, we kind of, uh, expect it to last all day tomorrow. But just say the word and I will have a car come get you and take you home, or wherever else you want to be."

Brad was staring at Lance now, and Adam knew that look. Brad was stuck. Wanting to hang on to his outrage and his pride, but tempted, so very tempted to stay for the sex. Needing to be cajoled, flattered, pleaded with. "Have some more champagne," he suggested, "while you think it over." Warily, Brad accepted more champagne. "We really want you to stay," Adam said, softly.

"Adam, don't push."

"Does he get to tell you what to do now?" Brad asked.

"Adam likes to get his own way," Lance said. "You must have noticed that."

"Oh, no, he was always too busy trying to please me," Brad said, airily.

Lance rolled his eyes. "Well, he likes his own way now, and I only spank him when he's being a brat about it," he said, with a slight grin. Which was seriously good strategy, because Brad would so love the idea of Adam being spanked. Not that Lance ever had, of course not. Definitely not. Although, Adam mused, he could definitely get with the idea of spanking Lance. See that lush, gorgeous ass turn pink…

"You know, that's a really bad habit you have there," Brad said, and was there a hint of amusement in his voice now? Because that was a very good sign. "I'm doing my best to bitch you out—"

"No, no, I'm sure you can do better than that," Lance murmured.

"—and you keep being nice to me. In fact, you're always fucking nice, every time we meet, it's pathetic."

"Of course I'm nice to you," Lance said, with a big, sunny smile. "I'm a nice guy. Plus, it pisses you off more than anything else I could do."

Adam clamped his jaw shut on the laugh that wanted to break out. Brad, for once in his life lost for words, was rigidly upright and staring at Lance like an affronted meerkat.

"And," Lance said brightly, "don't forget, you promised me sex lessons, back at the beginning of the summer. How to be good in bed with Adam Lambert, which you know all about and I don't at all. No, it's fair, he thinks I need lessons," he said, as Adam opened his mouth to protest and the laugh escaped.

"I promised nothing of the kind!"

"Well, maybe not a promise," said Lance, "but you did say you could teach me a few things." He leaned back against the kitchen counter and grinned.

"Now that," Adam said, resuming his former position against Brad's back and crooning into his ear, "I would very, very much like to see. C'mon, baby, say yes. What else could you possibly do for Christmas that'd be as much fun?"

Brad humphed, and Adam knew they had him. "I _suppose_ I could stay. Since apparently you can't manage to have fun without me. That is, provided you have something worthwhile planned." Adam rewarded him by pressing closer and kissing his ear.

"Planned?" Lance moved in, face to face with Brad and only an inch between their bodies. "I didn't make plans. I thought we'd improvise." He was using the porn voice now, and Adam was responding to it as he always did. He didn't think Brad was immune, either, even though Brad kept that superior tone in his voice when he said,

"Improvisation is so messy. Really, you went to the trouble of bringing me here and you don't even have anything planned? I'd say you definitely need some coaching."

"I planned," said Lance, "on having spectacular sex. Stripping you naked and both of us fucking you over the kitchen table, that'd be improvisation. How'm I doing?"

Brad's breath hitched. Adam groaned. "Can we please get with the stripping him naked part right now?"

"No. Not until I hear you say yes. Yes to all of it, me as well as Adam. If that's not what you want—" Lance stepped back and dropped out of porn voice and lost his sex god attitude in the same instant. Adam would never get used to how he did that—"then we feed you lunch and we put you in a car and forget about a threesome, and that's fine."

Lance seemed to be genetically incapable of letting people out of the house without feeding them. It was sort of adorable.

There was silence for twelve fraught seconds (Adam counted) while they stared at one another. Then Brad laughed. "Fuck you. Both of you. Yes," he said.

  


 **Appetizers**

"And you, Lance Bass, you had better live up to my standards or I'm telling everyone on Twitter that you suck in bed."

Lance got back up close and personal. "I do. I'm very good at it." He looked smokily at Brad, who cocked his head with all the arrogance his adorable little body could summon. Adam couldn't see the expression on Brad's face, but he could guess, and he could see the lurking grin on Lance's. "You know," Lance said, "you're so totally not my type." He and Adam exchanged rueful glances over Brad's shoulder. "But you are about the prettiest thing I ever saw in my life."

"Duh," said Brad, and Lance kissed him, and Adam thought his cock was probably going to burst through his pants any second now. He watched them biting at each other's lips, and reminded himself to breathe. Brad's ass gyrated against Adam's hips, trapped between Adam and Lance. Adam held Brad's hips still and ground against him, and Lance reached a hand round to pull Adam in for his turn to be kissed, and had the air conditioning in this kitchen stopped working, or what?

"Kitchen table," Adam gasped, because fuck, that was a great idea, that was a wonderful idea, the bedroom was way too far.

"Naked first," Lance said. "Just him."

Adam was definitely down with that idea, and slid his hands under the slinky wifebeater onto Brad's hot, taut little belly and up, slowly, pulling the singlet up and over Brad's head and capturing both Brad's wrists in his right hand as they stretched obligingly above his head. Lance was busying himself with the fastening of Brad's pants, and yes, Adam won his bet, and down they came, inching over Brad's thighs. Adam slid his left hand around to Brad's erection and teased his thumb over the already-leaking head. Brad whimpered, then arched helplessly as Lance's tongue licked over Adam's fingers and they played with him together, mouth and fingers sliding over his cock.

"Going to fuck you so good," Adam whispered, "both of us, have you begging, you're going to love this, baby."

"Adam, stuff," Lance ordered, rising from his knees, so Adam let Brad fall into Lance's arms and went for the drawer where they kept supplies. The kitchen table was just the right height for sex, and running upstairs for condoms had gotten old very quickly.

When he turned around, Brad was bent face down across the table, arched up on his elbows with his hands clutching the far edge and his legs spread wide with Lance standing between them. Adam slapped his handful of condoms and lube down onto the wooden surface and pressed himself to Lance's back to watch, over the nearest shoulder, Lance's hands on Brad's ass, the way his thumbs trailed a slow, feathery touch down between. "Share?" he said, and Lance spread Brad open so Adam could tease him with one fingertip.

Lance said, "Give him more." Adam slid two fingers between Lance's lips and drew them out wet with saliva. In, just a little way, just to the first knuckle, and out again, through that sweet ring of resistance, in and out, with Brad pleading for more and trying to move, and Lance's hands holding him still and open. "God," Lance breathed, "that's a pretty sight."

"Fuck me, fuck me," Brad insisted. "Now!"

"Pushy, isn't he," Lance said. "Patience. We'll take care of you." And to Adam's delight, Lance slid to his knees and pressed his tongue to that quivering hole, and Brad's reaction was everything he'd expected it to be. He watched them, Brad's slim thighs held firmly under Lance's muscled arms, his buttocks spread and trying to buck against the incredible sensations Lance's mouth was giving him. Free porn, indeed.

Adam undid his jeans very carefully and pumped his cock just a little. Time for the condom, he thought, and rolled it into place.

Alerted by the ripping of the wrapper, Lance leaned back from his rimming and looked up approvingly. He rose to his feet, and Adam obligingly opened his jeans and rolled down a condom on Lance's erection.

"Wanna toss a coin?" Lance said, grinning wickedly.

With almost superhuman generosity, Adam said, "You first," and handed him the lube. Lance squirted a good-sized blob onto his finger and slid it straight into Brad's asshole.

"Jesus! Will somebody for fuck's sake _fuck me!_ "

Lance anointed his cock with a liberal coating of lube, and pressed its blunt head against Brad's ass. Brad's legs spread impossibly wider, and there was an exasperated "Finally!" from the other side of the table as Lance's cock slowly disappeared into him, and some more excited noises too. Lance drew back, so gradually, and Adam stared at the hypnotic sight as it went in again, deeper, and out almost all the way, again and again…

And Lance withdrew. "Now you," he said, and Adam didn't bother to be puzzled, he was there, and oh, pushing into that tight place, so hot, so good, and Lance's eyes as avid as his own must have been as he watched.

"Stop," Lance said. "My turn again."

Lance was a fucking genius, Adam thought. Five thrusts, no more, and they'd withdraw, and swap, with Brad begging and sobbing for more. They turned him over for a while, held his legs in the air and took their turns, then back onto his belly and spread wide over the table. Depth, rhythm, changing it up, one would slide as slow as he could manage, and then the other in deep and fast, five hard strokes and then turn about again, until Adam thought he might seriously die if he couldn't finish.

Lance paused, smiled. "You think he wants us both at once?"

Brad was cursing wildly, demanding that they get on with it, but Lance pulled Adam's condom off, wiped him quickly with a damp kitchen towel, then emptied his champagne glass, chill fizzy liquid over Adam's cock. "It'll taste better than latex," he said, and Adam remembered that Lance was a genius and got himself around the table and lifted Brad's head and fed the tip of his cock into that pretty mouth. A moment later he could feel Brad's reaction as Lance penetrated him again. Brad's moans tingled against his flesh, and Lance stared at Adam's cock as he fucked harder, and Adam watched Brad taking it so beautifully and felt his orgasm build into inevitability, and pulled back, pumped his cock and spurted over Brad's ecstatic face, and saw Lance's eyes close and his face tighten as he came.

After a few long deep breaths, Adam moved shakily to the drawer for a clean cloth. When he turned, Lance was easing Brad to his feet and holding him, petting him as Brad clung on. He loved that about Lance, the way he took care of people. Adam liked to take care of people, too, but it was so good, sometimes, to let go and have Lance take the weight and look after him. And seeing him so gentle with Brad, it was beautiful. They were beautiful.

"Here, let me clean you up," Adam said, and Brad lifted a blissful eyes-closed face.

"Take him up to bed," Lance murmured. "I'll be there in five."

It was a little more than five minutes before Lance appeared at the bedroom door. By then, Adam was undressed, freshened up, and happily snuggled in with Brad, who'd catnapped for maybe ninety seconds and was now brightly awake and talkative again. The sheets, it seemed, were of acceptable quality, and the sight of Lance, or more properly, of the giant tray Lance was carrying, with three bottles, three glasses and some unidentifiable dishes, set off a stream of interested speculation.

Lance gestured to them to move their legs, and set the tray on the bed. The bottles turned out to be champagne, water, and vodka. And the dishes contained warm blinis, sour cream, caviar, and strawberries.

"If this is improvisation, I'm a big hairy bear," Brad announced, eagerly taking one of the small plates and two blinis, and spooning sour cream and caviar onto both.

"I never said I wasn't _prepared_ ," Lance pointed out. "Drink?"

They settled on the icy-cold vodka, for a properly Russian experience, and Lance was diverted into telling them about some of the more terrifying vodka experiences he'd had while actually in Russia, and taught them how to say the toast he'd offered earlier, which apparently meant "to everyone's good health", and Brad declared himself to be a caviar addict now, and was allowed to wipe his fingers around the bowl to claim the last stray little eggs, and then they fed one another strawberries—which turned out to have been marinaded in balsamic vinegar and which Adam said were the most delicious things he had ever put in his mouth, which made Brad pout and Lance shake his head in reproach and say that Brad was his favorite now and should have the last strawberry, so that of course Adam had to steal it right out from between Brad's teeth, and things got a little lively there for a while.

Lance moved the tray onto the enormous dressing table—after refilling the glasses, of course—and came back to sit on the bed. As an afterthought he set the bottle of water on the night stand. It made Adam smile inwardly. Lance was good at thinking ahead.

"You know, I think someone here is wearing way too many clothes, and it can't be me," Brad said, "because I haven't got any clothes on at all."

"I think we should do something about that," said Adam, and pounced.

There was a lot more tickling, and quite a bit more groping, than actual productive getting-Lance's-clothes-off, but even so it didn't take long to get him naked. "Does nobody but me bother with underwear any more?" Adam said indignantly, after Lance's two— _two_ —garments had been flung to the floor.

"You call those tiny little things 'underwear'?" Lance said.

"Don't want the goods to chafe." Adam liked his thongs. They were comfortable, and no VPL problems.

"Right, got to look after these," Lance said, and patted Adam's balls in a familiar way. He had wormed his way up the bed and was lying along Adam's left side. Brad, on the other side, snickered and agreed.

"You know," Lance said, leaning up on one elbow to address Brad, "the reason you're here is that I couldn't think of anything Adam would like more than having two mouths on his cock at the same time."

"Really?" Brad smirked. "That does sound kinda characteristic, now you mention it."

Adam perked up. There was more snickering.

"The trouble is…" Lance said, "I don't know that we can trust him to lie back and take it."

"Mmm. Yeah, he's going to be interfering, taking charge, being obnoxious," said Brad, wide-eyed with fake dismay, the brat.

"I don't think we should let him do that."

"I never thought I would say this, but I agree with you."

"I am not obnoxious!" Adam felt it was time to speak up for himself. "And if I want to give a little direction, that's because I know what I like." It seemed perfectly reasonable to him. After all, what if he really, really wanted someone sucking on the head of his cock, and they were both busy licking the shaft? That was just unthinkable.

"You know, honey, sometimes you just have to let someone else be in charge." Brad was sprawling across Adam's chest. "After all, we know what you like."

"And we'll give it to you," Lance said, kneeling on the bed, "trust us."

"And just to be sure you're a good boy," said Brad, wriggling away, "we won't let you interfere."

"Oh, no, but—now, wait a second!" Adam yelped in protest, as they spread his arms out towards the tall wooden posts on either side of the bed. Brad had obviously spotted Lance's velvet-covered ropes already fastened to the pillars—Lance had _so_ planned this—and they wrestled him into position and tied his wrists, then sat back on their heels and looked at him with eerily identical grins of satisfaction on their entirely different faces. Adam protested, rather feebly, that he did not want to be tied up.

"We can tell," said Lance, running two fingers along the length of Adam's erection. "You don't like it at all."

Oh, dear, Adam thought. He was at the mercy of these two, and they were going to exploit their advantage ruthlessly. He whimpered.

"So," said Brad, cheerfully. "Where shall we start?"

Lance looked at him with a positively evil expression in his green eyes. "I say we start at the top and work down."

"He does have very sensitive ears," Brad agreed. "It might just drive him wild to have both of them kissed at the same time. And won't that be fun?"

Adam was sure it would. And oh, oh god, oh dear sweet motherfucking fiends from hell, both of them, sucking, licking, nibbling his ears, sending crazy impulses along his nerve endings in stereo, and then they slid down, with a brief detour to Adam's mouth—tag team kissing was so not fair—then the pair of them were playing with his nipples. They took turns. Sometimes one would lave him gently with a flattened tongue while the other tugged with teeth, sometimes they'd match. They _conferred_ , dammit, they were conspiring to make him insane. Or else they were in competition to see who could drive him hardest. Either way, this was incredible.

"You fuckers, please, please," he said, and many other things, but they took their sweet time before they were both down there licking his straining cock. Mouths and hands, everywhere, sliding, sucking him inside, gripping his shaft or his balls, silk-wet fingers inside him. Adam was lost in the sensations, and as there was really nothing he could do, he lay back and let them pleasure him, and it was wonderful.

Once he could speak again—good thing he had no call to sing for several days—he requested, very politely, he thought, that they get each other off somewhere he could watch. They were _definitely_ competing on that one. It was a pity Lance had vetoed recording any of this, because they were so hot he thought there'd be scorch marks on the sheets.

They cuddled up against him afterwards, sticky, sweaty and sated, and Adam managed to summon up the strength to run his fingers through Brad's hair, and bring Lance in for a brief kiss.

Of course, Brad couldn't leave things nice and peaceful. "I'm starving!" he announced. "More food!"

"Hummingbird," Adam grumbled. Brad's metabolism was practically a miracle of nature. He ate all the time and never seemed to get fat. To be fair, he had been working quite hard.

Lance rolled off the bed. "Gimme five minutes to clean up a bit," he said, and disappeared into the bathroom. Adam contemplated the effort of a shower and decided he'd just lie there and stink of sex for a while longer. Maybe Brad and Lance could give him a sponge bath. Eh, maybe not.

Lance emerged, stepped into his jeans and went off to make dinner.

  


 **Entrée**

Brad went into the bathroom. Moments later the sounds of water pattering onto the floor and squeaks of rapture announced that he'd discovered Lance's fantastic shower. Adam listened, amused. The water sounds changed and there were more ecstatic noises. Obviously he'd found the lateral jets. He'd be in there for hours. Adam contemplated joining him, but it didn't seem right without Lance, so he staggered off to the nearest guest bedroom and made himself respectable in its somewhat inferior shower. There was a bathrobe on the back of the door, so he brought it back, arriving in the master bedroom just as Bradley emerged, clean as a whistle and looking outrageously chipper.

"I brought you a robe," Adam said, tossing it onto the bed and heading to the closet. There were certainly some pants of some description—yes, black silk pajama bottoms, perfect.

Brad looked at the robe with distaste. "It's peach," he said. "I was going to borrow one of your T-shirts."

"Any of my T-shirts would be like a dress on you."

"I look cute in a dress," Brad said.

"You'll look cute in peach," Adam assured him. "Come on, princess, let's go see what Lance has cooked for us."

"My God, he cooks, too? It's settled then, I'm moving in. I'm going to live in that bathroom."

I really am ridiculously lucky, Adam thought to himself as he followed Brad down the stairs. This was all working out spectacularly well.

The dogs were inside and greeted Adam with their usual rapture, then investigated under the peach bathrobe in ways that made Lance apologize for his perverted puppies and usher them promptly out of the kitchen. Adam sat giggling at the immaculately clean table and beckoned to Brad to join him.

"I just had a religious experience," Brad announced.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Lance replied over his shoulder. He was getting something out of the oven, something that smelled fantastic. "When I went up to see if y'all were ready to eat yet it sounded like you were making out with the water supply. I hope it was good for the shower."

"You may mock, but that shower is sublime. Why don't you have a shower like that at your place?"

"I— it didn't come with a shower like that," Adam said.

"Unlike Brad," Lance commented. "I guess we could—does it count as an orgy with only three people?"

Adam and Lance exchanged grins. Really, three of them in the shower, not a bad idea.

"So, what's for dinner?" Brad said. "Feed me!"

The answer turned out to be slow-roasted beef in thick slices, tender enough to cut with the spoons they used to scoop up the thick, rich, wine-filled gravy that accompanied it. Apparently it had been in the oven since before Adam and Brad arrived at the house, which meant that Lance was a wizard, or prescient, or something. At the very least, an awesome advance planner.

Adam wasn't sure he was ready to get back to bed quite yet, so he proposed a move into the den to watch something from Lance's shameful collection of TIVO'd reality shows.

"Yes, but wait. What's for dessert?" said Brad.

"Dessert?" Lance replied. "We don't, um… I didn't get anything for dessert." He and Adam both kept a careful eye on their intake, and desserts worth the name weren't known for their low-calorie deliciousness.

"What, nothing?" Brad's wide-eyed look of deprivation was a work of art.

"Uh, I think we have frozen low-fat yogurt?"

Okay, that was actual pain on his face. Brad, the kicked puppy. "More strawberries?" he asked, hopefully.

Lance looked mortally embarrassed. His Mississippi feed-people heritage reproaching him, Adam supposed. "Sorry. Uh, there's fruit."

Brad still looked like Foster in "starving to death" mode, so Adam grabbed him and hauled him off to the den. Lance arrived a moment later with the fruit bowl, and Brad picked carefully through the offerings before selecting a peach and dispatching Lance to fetch him a knife and a plate while Adam scrolled through the possibilities on the TV.

They slumped on the couch on either side of Adam, rested their feet on the sturdy walnut coffee table, and mocked the Real Housewives of wherever for a while. Brad munched his way through most of a bunch of grapes and a banana (which was particularly entertaining, although Lance gave him only eight out of ten and said he'd seen better, which left Brad indignant, Lance smug, and Adam extremely curious) before settling in to snuggle and bitch properly.

Still, there were only so many Real Housewives Adam could stand before his brains started to melt out of his ears. Besides, he was beginning to feel the urge to get back to the proper Christmas entertainment, now his dinner had settled. He was more than happy, therefore, when Brad sighed noisily and did one of his Cheeks patented take-me-now stretches, arching off the couch so that the peach robe fell open to reveal him in all his waxed glory.

"I'm the guest star in this Christmas threesome, right?" he said.

Lance, shaking with silent laughter, was obviously in no condition to answer. Adam decided he'd better step up. "Yes, princess, you are the guest star."

"Then I think I should have that _two mouths, one dick_ experience," Brad stated. "I deserve it, don't you think?"

"That sounds fair," said Adam. He waved the remote at the tv.

Lance stood up and moved the fruit bowl onto the nearest available shelf space. "Okay," he said. "On the table."

Brad sat up. "What is it with you and tables?"

"You look so edible," Lance said, baring his teeth in a predatory smile.

"He's right," Adam said. "C'mon, lie down. Keep the robe on, it'll cushion your back."

"We could do this on a proper mattress," Brad said, but posed himself elegantly on the coffee table anyway. "Peel me a gra—woah!"

"Hey!" said Adam. "Share!" Lance's green eyes looked up at him from Brad's groin, but he took his sweet time letting Brad's cock slip out of his mouth, a good deal harder, Adam was certain, than it had been when Lance took it in. Still, Adam was entitled to the treat, too, and he loved this moment, when a guy wasn't completely hard and it was totally easy to take him in completely and just play a little bit. He indulged himself.

After a while he noticed that Brad was not protesting the unfairness of only having one mouth where he'd asked for two, and lifted his gaze. The two of them were kissing—no, Lance was kissing Brad, Brad was being kissed and very happy about it judging by the languid fluttering of his eyelashes. And Lance had a hand tracing across Brad's abs, and that was definitely going to do it for Brad, who adored that kind of feather-light touch when he was just warming up. Adam watched them, idly stroking Brad's erection as he admired the pretty.

"He likes it rough, too," he said, and reached up to pinch a nipple. Brad arched and moaned, and Lance followed Adam's lead readily. Suddenly inspired, Adam grabbed a peach from the bowl behind him, bit, and squeezed the fruit so that juice dripped over Brad's belly and cock. "I was right," he said, grinning evilly. "You do look good in peach."

"Next year you're getting coal," Brad threatened, but as Adam bent to lick the sticky juice, he stopped complaining. It was gloriously dirty, wet, sticky, frantic, sucking and slithering over Brad's hot, hard cock, lips and tongues colliding, noses bumping, their hands everywhere they could reach—Brad's spread thighs, each other's arms—and there was the soundtrack, Lance's deep humming, Brad's seagull wails, and the moans Adam could hear coming from his own throat. Only a trace of come spilled into Adam's mouth when Brad orgasmed, but his whole body shook with the force of it. Adam gathered him close, and Lance's hands stroked reassuringly down both of them.

Adam got his Scarlett O'Hara moment, because Brad grumbled against his shoulder when he attempted to set him down, so Adam just carried him back up the stairs and laid him on the bed. Brad was asleep as his head hit the pillow.

Lance extracted himself from his jeans. "He is ridiculously pretty," he commented, as they stood and looked at the comatose form on the bed.

"He is," Adam agreed, turning to wrap his arms around Lance and nuzzle gently at his neck, stubble prickling at his lips. "This is amazing. Thank you."

"Oh, I'm getting the benefit, trust me. Best Christmas gift ever." Lance grinned up at him.

"Should we…" Adam trailed his fingers over Lance's erection.

"I think maybe we should save it until Sleeping Beauty wakes up."

"Sounds like you have plans." Adam was all in favor of Lance having plans. Or improvisations, whatever. Mostly Lance was happy to do whatever Adam asked, but for whatever reason he was taking charge tonight, and the results so far were spectacular.

"I love you," Lance whispered suddenly. Adam held him tighter. "I can't believe how much I love you."

"Love you too, baby. You're incredible." It was hard to express how Adam felt. Words didn't seem potent enough, and even hugging Lance against his heart, he didn't know if he managed to say it right, to show it. They stood there for a while just breathing one another's scent.

There was a rustle from the bed. "Mmmm. What time is it?"

"Ah, the sleeper wakes," said Adam. "It's, um, it's midnight."

"It's Christmas!" Lance said. "Merry Christmas, baby." Time for another kiss.

"Er, hello?" said Brad, pointedly, after a few minutes of this.

"And a Merry Christmas to you, too, my little Christmas sex toy," said Adam, leaping onto the bed and kissing Brad with enthusiasm. Brad emerged from this to find Lance waiting with another kiss.

"So whose gift am I, then?" Brad inquired, looking very pleased with himself.

"Mine, of course. Shift your bony ass over, make some room here." Adam lay down and beckoned Lance around the bed to join him.

"Which means we get to do what Adam wants, am I right?" said Brad, addressing Lance over Adam's shoulder.

"Sounds good to me," said Adam.

"Well? What do you want?" said Brad.

Adam was contemplating the possibilities when Lance's porn voice said: "I think what Adam wants is to fuck one of us while the other one fucks him."

"Oh! That is what I want. That is _exactly_ what I want." The other possibilities fled from his mind as he thought about this one. It was even probable that his eyes were glazing over.

"I call bottom!" said Brad at once.

"You're sure? We worked you pretty hard, before," said Lance.

Brad sat up, cross-legged and perfectly unselfconscious. "Now you see why you need lessons. Listen well. To keep Adam happy, really happy, in bed, you have to _love_ bottoming. You have to want it. You have to be a greedy bitch who wants it all the time and who'll give him everything and let him take it all. You have to love having that monster cock in your ass, and you have to make sure he knows it."

Lance looked a bit startled.

"And, you have to never let the opportunity pass," said Brad, "which is why I call bottom."

"Okay," Lance said. "I'll, um, bear that in mind."

Brad looked at him assessingly. "You do that," he said. "Meanwhile, where's the lube?"

Adam (and Lance) had spent so long playing with Brad that they were hard and ready, but somehow this didn't bring any sense of urgency, and the three of them spent what felt like forever enjoying each other's skin with fingers, mouths, with their whole bodies in a hot, slow tangle of sensation. It was just another move when Adam coated his fingers with lube and slid them into Brad, and felt Lance slowly doing the same to him. He felt open and ready, and Lance's fingers deep inside him made him _want_.

"How do we do this?" he asked, breathless.

"You mean, without crushing the little guy?" Lance said.

"I'm so very much tougher than I look," said Brad.

"Yeah, you'd have to be."

"I think maybe we should, we should practice a bit first," said Adam, before they got too far off topic. "Lance…" He lay back, and tugged at Lance's arm. "Please?"

"Absolutely," Lance said, and fitted himself face-to-face with Adam, who spread his legs and wiggled his hips just enough to make Lance groan.

Slowly, slowly, Lance's cock entered him, and Adam opened up eagerly. He didn't know if he'd ever been so ready before. He hooked his ankles behind Lance's knees and slid his arms over Lance's smooth, gleaming back.

"Imagine how it's going to feel," Lance said into his ear, "when you're fucking Brad." Adam did imagine it, and he shivered with anticipation. "You're like silk, babe," Lance murmured, "so good, so good."

It took so much willpower for Adam to say, stop, but he managed it at last, and Lance withdrew and investigated the nightstand drawer while Adam arranged Brad on the bed with a hard pillow under his narrow hips. Lance rolled a condom onto Adam's already leaking cock, and he pushed in, and Brad arched under him and it felt wonderful. This, just this. Being totally selfish, taking his pleasure. He set a hard, fast rhythm, plunging deep into that tight heat, he knew he wasn't going to come for a while, it felt as if he could fuck for ever, he felt like a fucking god.

Still in his mind was the tingling anticipation of more to come, and when he felt Lance's hands smooth lightly over his ass, Adam stopped moving, and shifted his knees. He watched Brad's face, wondering if he would feel it too, and shuddered involuntarily as Lance filled him, slowly, and Lance's weight was warm against his back, and Lance's arms straightened taut on either side of him, fisted against the mattress.

For a long moment Adam just breathed and let the sensations overwhelm him.

Then Brad twitched his hips, and Lance began to move, slowly, so slowly out again, and in, and it was almost too much, Adam struggled to control himself, to control this. He bit his lower lip viciously and the sting brought him back, and he started moving too, long, careful strokes until he was sure Lance had the same rhythm. They worked together, almost perfectly but not quite, so that every thrust seemed to bring a different sensation, squeezing and stretching him until he couldn't be conscious of anything but Lance's cock in him, his cock in Brad, and the primal need to fuck.

It built, fuelled by the slick sounds of their fucking, stoked by every groan and curse, it built into something overwhelming. Adam felt his orgasm swelling up inside him like a stormcloud, deep and wide, rolling thunder filled with lightning flashes of sensation as Brad scratched at his nipples and Lance's cock rasped across his prostate. He gasped for breath as Brad squeezed tight around him, and his rhythm stuttered and grew frantic, and Lance kept on pushing, pushing him until the storm broke and he came so hard he thought he was going to pass out, and collapsed down onto Brad as Lance, behind him, finished with something like a sob.

Adam lolled helplessly. The two of them settled him back on the bed, and he blinked at them, unable to find words.

"Jesus," Brad muttered. Lance, swaying on his knees, passed the water bottle across the bed to him. Good host, Adam thought vaguely, and then he was asleep.

  


 **Just Desserts**

A shrill noise woke him. Adam opened his eyes very slowly. By the time he managed it, Lance had answered the phone.

"Hi, Momma! Merry Christmas." Lance wriggled out of the bed and crossed to the dresser. With the cordless phone tucked against his shoulder he struggled into a pair of charcoal gray boxer briefs. "I meant to call you, but—oh, it's that late already? We, um, slept in." Lance blushed.

Adam grinned to himself. On the phone to Mom, naturally Lance had to put some clothes on.

"You liked them? Good, I'm glad. Uh, no, I haven't actually opened my gifts yet. Yes, we did have kind of a late night. Yes, he's here. Mom says Merry Christmas," and he flashed a nervous grin at Adam. Lance was sounding more Mississippi with every sentence.

"Bet you like that, huh?" whispered Brad. "Southern accents always get you hot." He was drawling too—really, was that necessary?

"Yeah, of course. Hey, Leighton." Lance's voice softened. Leighton was his niece, Adam remembered. "And Merry Christmas to you. Did Santa bring you something good?" Lance smiled as he listened, presumably to a long excited list of all the things the kid got for Christmas. "You have a great time, and say hi to your little brother for me. Oh, Meme wants to talk to me again? Okay, 'bye, sweetie."

"Bored now," murmured Brad. "Let's make things more interesting." He threw off the covers and slid one hand down over Adam's belly. Adam, and Adam's cock, responded at once to this treatment, and Adam pulled Brad in for a long, wet kiss and started investigating the more interesting parts of him with both hands.

"No, we didn't have Christmas dinner yet, we, uh, I was going to, I have…" Lance's voice trailed off as he saw what they were doing. His eyes widened, huge and horrified. "Sorry, Momma, I just, there was something—wait just one second." He sent them both a death glare and scuttled out of the bedroom with the phone.

"Such a momma's boy," Brad sighed. "Ain't it sweet?"

"He is, though," Adam said. "Sweet."

Brad considered. "Is that what you really want? Sweet?"

Adam tried again. "He's not insipid, he's not a wimp, he's just—nice. He's a nice human being. He's a really good friend to have. He'll do anything for people he cares about. I—I'd like it if you could be friends."

Brad gave him a pitying look, but admitted, "He's not quite like I thought he'd be. I'd never have guessed he'd agree to a threesome, for one thing."

"Agree to it? It was Lance's idea."

"Really? So how'd you get him to accept me as the jam in this tasty, filling sandwich?"

"He suggested you." Brad stared. "He knows you're exactly my type. You aren't his type."

"No, he said," Brad replied absently. "I'm guessing you're his type."

"Yeah. He… he likes to make me happy."

"He's your boyfriend, that's his job," said Brad, but without venom. "So, okay, he actually is sweet." He raised himself up on one elbow. "Adam, seriously? I mean, you and me was one thing, but—Lance?"

How do I explain? Adam thought. He put his hands together, palms flat, fingers pressing against fingers. "You and me, we were like that. Lance isn't the same. He's…" He spread his fingers and shifted his hands in opposite directions so they were out of alignment. "We're like this." His fingers interlaced into a tight grip.

Brad pouted. "Oh, you," he said. "Always with the dramatic gestures. But seriously, Adam, won't you get bored with sweet?"

The door opened. Lance entered the room and stood with his back to the door and his bare arms folded across his chest. He'd found a pair of black jeans somewhere—the laundry, Adam supposed—and he did not, right now, look sweet at all. He looked… actually, he looked kind of intimidating. "So," Lance drawled, "just so we're clear, that was y'all asking to be spanked, am I right?"

"Ooh!" said Brad, sitting up.

Adam was not so sure about this. "We, um," he began.

"Y'all were making out, without me, while my Momma was on the phone."

When you put it like that, maybe they had been asking for it. Except that he—really, it was all Brad's fault!

Lance pulled the hard-backed chair away from the dresser and sat down. "Come here."

Brad, widening his eyes in the most coquettish way, the little tart, scooted across the bed and stood in front of Lance, who gestured at his lap. Brad folded neatly down over Lance's legs, his pert ass in just the right position to be spanked. Adam sat up to watch, and hoisted the comforter up to cover himself. He'd never watched this, not live and just across the room, and it was not an opportunity he was going to waste.

"If you ask me to stop, I will," Lance said, "but if you cheat, it means five extra." And his hand came down with a sharp sound, and Brad mewed with shock. There was a bright handprint. Adam stared as Brad wriggled and panted, and Lance held him still with one hand while the other came down in slow, ruthless strokes.

At last, Lance stopped, and pulled Brad upright. Adam was not at all surprised to see how hard Brad was, or how big his eyes looked, or that he wasn't talking back.

"Go kneel on the bed. Hands behind you," Lance instructed, and Brad went, and did. "Adam."

"Er, me?"

Lance looked at him. "You want me to permanently associate sex with my mother's phone calls?"

"Um, no?"

"Then come here."

Adam slid out from under the cover because he couldn't _not_. Lance's eyes were hypnotic. And there was Brad's gaze, too, which Adam could almost feel on his skin, Brad who was kneeling on the bed breathing as though he'd been sprinting.

He stopped in front of Lance, and Lance looked up at him and said, "Adam?" and he knew he could say no right now and they'd take themselves right back to the bed to play and it would be forgotten, but in spite of the apprehension low in his belly, Adam needed to know. How it would feel. Why Brad had sometimes provoked him, back then, why he'd gone to Lance's hand so eagerly. Adam didn't like pain. He didn't want to be hurt. But he did sort of deserve this and he might never do so again and it would just feel silly if he didn't deserve it and he wanted to know.…

He bent awkwardly, and Lance parted his legs. Adam folded over, and Lance positioned him so that his erection was tucked between Lance's thighs, and Adam had to use his hands for balance. He felt incredibly vulnerable. Lance stroked the length of his back, and his hand rested, hot, on Adam's ass.

"You know the rules," Lance said.

"Yes," he said, and shivered. He knew Brad was staring at him and flushed with shame, except he remembered how unbelievably hot it looked when it was Brad spread over Lance's thighs like this. Did he look that hot too?

He gasped at the first crack of pain on his ass. It _hurt_ , a bright sharp sting that left him breathless, only every stroke pushed him, rocked him against the tight grip of Lance's thighs, and he felt a stab of pleasure as his cock dragged against the rough denim of Lance's jeans. Adam struggled and swore, but he was off-balance and helpless and so turned on he didn't even know if he wanted to escape or not. Which part was pleasure now and which was pain? The sensations were so intense and so close together he couldn't be sure, and it was so—so—

"Lance!" he gasped. "Please…"

Lance's hands, strong and sure, helped him and settled him until he was kneeling on the floor. "I'm sorry," Adam said, not even sure whether he was sorry for the making out or for not taking more punishment. Lance held Adam's chin and looked into his eyes.

"Show me," he said, and undid his jeans.

Ah, yes! Adam complied enthusiastically and had Lance's jeans fully unzipped and his cock out from his boxers—he must have been so uncomfortable, poor baby—and was very happy to suck and lick and worship. Lance's fingers threaded through his hair, not controlling, caressing. He felt loved.

"Don't I get to apologize, too?" came plaintively from the bed.

Adam stopped licking and sat back on his heels, then hurriedly forward again. Lance's face had lost that stern look, now he was wide eyed and surprised, as if it hadn't occurred to him that he should have that particular treat. Which was very foolish, in Adam's opinion. He stood up and pulled Lance towards the bed, tipped him backwards and pulled his clothes off him. "Definitely," he said.

In seconds they had Lance moaning, then pleading, then incoherent.

"The thing," said Brad, "about having—this much sex—is you get to last—for a very—very—long time."

"Oh, God," Lance said. He was laid out with his legs spread, sweaty and delicious and a complete contrast to the way he'd been just a few minutes ago. Passive, allowing them to do what they wanted with him. Almost purring, Adam reached for the lube, and slowly pushed one finger into Lance, who angled his hips helpfully and made anguished noises when Adam slid out again. "Adam, please. Please."

"What do you want, baby?"

"You. Fuck me, please." Hearing him ask in that deep, needy voice, it did something indefinable to Adam, who moved Brad firmly out of the way and settled between Lance's legs, which promptly came up and tightened around Adam's waist. Adam pressed in slowly, watching Lance's face, Lance's heavy-lidded eyes almost drunk with sex, and crooned his approval as he sank in deep and settled to a slow, careful rhythm.

Hands stroked his thighs, and Adam thought, Brad, mustn't be selfish. He pulled out, and rearranged things to put Lance on his side so that Adam could enter him from behind. Brad nodded his approval and slithered down the bed, and Lance's moans intensified as he was sucked as well as fucked.

It felt as though pressure was building up inside Adam, but he couldn't thrust hard like this, the angle was wrong, it was all too gentle, so he shifted again. "Let's try something else," he murmured into Lance's ear, and moved to the edge of the bed. He positioned Lance on his knees above Adam's lap, and drew Lance's head back to rest against his shoulder as he let him slowly down onto Adam's erection until Adam was deep, deep inside. "Move for me," Adam crooned, and urged Lance's hips up with his hands, then down again. Brad, standing in front admiring the scene with one hand firmly gripping his own erection, bent and flickered his tongue over Lance's cock, then slid down.

" _Oh, fuck, fuck,_ " Lance cried out, shuddering in Adam's arms as they worked him ruthlessly to a climax that left him spent and helpless. As Lance's ass clenched around him, Adam thrust frantically and orgasmed with a groan, and managed to keep his eyes open long enough to see Brad on his knees in front of them jerk himself off until come spilled over his fingers. He looked so pretty when he came.

Adam had just enough strength to get himself, Lance and Brad back onto the bed, where they lay in an entangled, breathless mess and Brad, inevitably, fell asleep. Adam wrapped his arms around Lance and drew him close, dropped little kisses on his cheek and eyelid, and stroked him until he stopped trembling.  
"Holy fuck," said Lance, when he could speak again.

"Is that appropriate for a Christmas present?" Adam said. "Seems like a good description." He leaned in for a kiss. "You give the best gifts."

Lance smiled. "I really do."

"Speaking as the essential component in the best gift ever," said Brad, sitting up, "I'm starving."

Lance winced and began to sit up. Adam held him down. "Wait," he said. "Nobody's going to die of hunger in the next ten minutes."

"No, it's okay, it is time for—I meant to fix breakfast before, but y'all distracted me." Lance blushed, but got himself up off the bed, put his discarded clothes onto a chair and went into the bathroom.

Adam glared. "Couldn't you have let him lie there and recover for five minutes?"

"Sorry." Brad did actually look repentant. "I just—you were getting kind of mushy, there."

"Well, we are mushy," Adam said.

"Except when he spanks your ass?"

"That was a first."

"Really? 'Cause he seemed like he knew exactly what he was doing. Damn, that was toppy."

Adam grinned helplessly. "Lance does that sometimes. Not very often, but when he gets that way it's always hot."

Brad looked at him appraisingly. "I never thought I'd see you like that."

"I bet you're glad you did."

"I thought I was going to come just watching," Brad said, meditatively. He stretched, then sprang off the bed. "Time for another shower!"

"No, _you_ are a bad person who forced my generous-hearted boyfriend out of bed," Adam said, "so _you_ can shower in the guest bathroom. Besides, you're hungry. You don't want to take hours over it."

Brad made a face at him but took himself off to find the guest shower. Lance emerged a moment later, and Adam ambushed him for a quick hug and then went in to use the bathroom himself.

  


By the time he got downstairs, there was a conversation in progress in the kitchen, so Adam paused in the hallway, interested to hear what they might be talking about.

"See, you can't separate them like that," Brad was saying. "I'm not talking about when he's on stage, obviously that doesn't count, but he loves that stuff. The makeup, the jewelry, the fashion. It's not a whole different identity, it's part of who Adam is and if you can't accept it, sooner or later you will break his heart. And then I'll have to kill you."

"I'm not saying—I mean, it's not my style, but I wouldn't, I don't want to stop him doing it. He looks amazing," Lance replied. "It's just, when it's just him, nothing extra, nothing artificial. That's all."

"Yeah, all big blue eyes and freckles."

Adam frowned.

"I sometimes threaten to play count the freckles," Lance said.

"It'd probably only take a week. You could cross them off one at a time."

"With one of those scented marker pens," said Lance, and Adam could hear the smile in his voice. "I think I'll save that in case he's really, really naughty."

Brad laughed. Adam decided it was time to put an end to this conversation, and went into the kitchen. Brad was sitting at the table, cradling a mug of coffee and wearing a bright orange T-shirt which certainly belonged to Lance. Adam did not own any orange T-shirts. Unreasonably, Lance looked good in orange, and the princess seemed to be carrying it off with aplomb. Lance was at the stove wielding assorted cooking pans and implements, and while Adam helped himself to coffee and tipped some champagne into his orange juice, he took orders for eggs, then served up a mighty breakfast involving pancakes, bacon and—Adam stared at his plate. That was definitely a steak. Fried green tomatoes—and—

"Oh my God. Is that _grits_? Wow. I guess this is brunch."

"Do not diss my grits," Lance said, automatically. "I only meant to do pancakes for breakfast, but it got kind of late, so."

"How come you can cook like this?" Brad said, between mouthfuls. He was actually eating those things. "I thought you rich boyband millionaire types had people to do that sort of thing for you?"

"I love cooking," Lance replied. "My momma taught me. She's an amazing cook. I thought about fixing Christmas dinner for y'all, but it wouldn't be like it is at my parents', and it'd take too long."

"Adam thought you were going to take him home to Mississippi for Christmas," said Brad, impervious to Adam's horrified eyes and the under-the-table kick that certainly hurt Adam's bare toes more than it hurt Brad's shin.

"Oh, God, no," Lance said. "Everybody shows up at my parents' house for the holidays. You'd have had the most incredible food, of course, way better than my cooking. Prime rib, I expect, and pecan pie, and apple pie, and all kinds. You'd have put on, like, ten pounds. But I wouldn't do that to you."

"I can be family-friendly," Adam said, as casually as he could. "I mean, I wouldn't show up in full makeup and all my glitter, you know? I think I could get them to like me."

Lance looked at him in surprise. "Of course they'd like you," he said.

"Oh. I just thought, I haven't met your parents yet," Adam began, and then wasn't sure how to continue.

"You don't wanna meet all my family at once, trust me, they have this incredibly polite, totally relentless interrogation technique and it's just, no. And they're kind of conservative and stuff. I mean, they're good people, but I was a huge surprise to them, they're not like your parents. Maybe when we're in New York I could get Momma and Meme to come see us, we can take them shopping and go see a show."

Adam said he thought this would be cool, and applied himself to eating his enormous meal and not smiling so hard his face would burst. He'd figured it out. Lance wasn't worried that his family wouldn't like Adam. He was worried that Adam wouldn't like his family.

Across the table, Brad winked at him. "I'm all in favor of non-traditional Christmas dinner," said Brad, laying down his fork. "That was quite satisfactory, except for there being no dessert. Where did you put the peaches?"

"You could look in there." Lance's nod indicated a large white box next to the refrigerator.

Brad opened it, and shrieked with joy. Cradling the box lovingly, he gazed at its contents as though he'd fallen in love. "Mine," he said. "All mine! You guys don't eat dessert, you said so."

Adam went to see.

"Mine!" said Brad.

"Yes, I get it, but what—ah." An array of desserts, slices of chocolate cake, cheesecake, pastries. Adam could practically feel his hips expanding as he looked at them, but Mr Metabolism here would be fine.

"You can get anything delivered in LA, even on Christmas," Lance said, lightly. "And I thought watching you eat cannoli would fit right in with the general theme."

It really did. In fact, watching Brad enjoy his phallic Italian pastry rapidly led to a lot more action involving desserts and the kitchen table, and one thing led to another, and another, and they ended up in Lance's magnificent shower together and didn't emerge from it until they were so clean they probably sparkled, and Brad was hungry again so they called out for Chinese food and watched a DVD on Lance's giant tv, because, as Adam said, it was a good tradition and he needed something respectable to tell people, if anyone asked what he'd done for Christmas.

And after that, Brad said that it had been an exceptional Christmas, but he had stuff of his own to do and could he have that car now, please. Adam suspected him of being tactful, which was sweet. And… well timed. So Brad went off to get dressed, and Lance cleaned the kitchen table, and Adam discovered that there were still four portions of dessert in the large white box, so he closed it up ready to present when Brad came down again.

Brad stood there, slinky and self-possessed just as if he hadn't spent the last day and a half being totally debauched.

"So," he said, and Lance went over to him.

"Thank you," Lance said seriously, and kissed him quite primly on the lips.

Brad did not do prim, so the kiss evolved somewhat before they stepped apart. "You're welcome," said Brad, fluttering his eyelashes just a little bit. "Any time. Seriously."

"Thanks, baby," said Adam, and took his turn. The doorbell sounded and Lance went off to the front door.

Brad shrugged. "You can keep him," he said. "And if you want to do this again, don't you dare call anyone else!"

Adam laughed and hugged him, then picked up the white dessert box and handed it over. "Best take all the temptation away," he said, and Brad wiggled his ass and waved over his shoulder and then he was gone.

  


 **Petits Fours**

So they changed the sheets, made vodka martinis and picked out another DVD to watch on the bedroom tv for a snuggly, restful evening in bed.

  


It wasn't until a couple of evenings later, actually when Adam was just taking his pants off, that Lance appeared in front of him, proffering a small, brightly-wrapped package.

"I, uh, actually got you a Christmas gift," Lance said, almost apologetically.

"Babe! What—I mean, seriously?" Adam accepted the package. "It's not like I'm ever going to get a better gift than the threesome."

"It's just a little thing, really," Lance said, shrugging. "It's just, I saw it, and it reminded me of you, so."

Adam looked at him suspiciously. Lance looked back, all eyes and innocence, so there was probably something going on. "Okay, then." Warily, he picked at the folded corner of the paper, and peeled it back. The picture seemed to be—what, cufflinks? With a sparkly glass disk in bright blue. Except the box was a bit large for—and also, Lance wouldn't buy glass jewelry, surely it wasn't his style. He ripped the wrapping paper away, and screamed.

Lance was quaking. Adam was so going to kill him for this. He tipped the little plug out onto the bed and examined it. It was, possibly, [the most adorable butt plug in existence](http://www.sexylingerie-allaboutromance.com/99106en.html), with its end stop of faceted blue. "Butt jewelry. Jewelry for the ass." He looked at Lance, who had lost it completely. "But it's the wrong color," Adam said. "It should match your eyes. Otherwise how am I ever going to appreciate it?"

"Got another one," Lance managed, gusting with laughter. "Green one. His and his." He fell onto the bed and buried his face in the pillow. He was still laughing as Adam stripped off his jeans and boxer briefs, still giggling as Adam opened the other box, the one with the green-jeweled plug, lubed it and carefully pressed it into Lance's ass, still quivering as Adam lifted his hips up and admired the effect. Adam finally gave in and laughed until his stomach hurt, and as he lay helpless on the bed Lance pushed the blue plug into him, and they lay there on the bed with their twinkly, sparkly assholes and tears running down their cheeks.

"Merry Christmas, babe."

# 7\. Can't see the wood for the 42Ds

  


 _This story isn't strictly part of the Bouquet timeline, think of it as a branch from this universe!_

Lance looked with disapproval at the slumbering mound next to him. A crest of black and blue hair on the pillow was the only visible indication of Adam's identity. There was no waking him, however, and plainly no prospect of morning nookie. Lance extracted himself from the bed and made his way to the bathroom for a swift shower. He pulled on clean jeans and T-shirt and went dutifully down to the kitchen to make coffee.

Really, this lack of morning sex was the down side of having friends over for dinner.

It had been a great evening. Kris Allen had a truly evil sense of humor which could slide innuendo into the most innocuous statement, and his expressive little face and deep, wicked chuckle made absolutely certain nobody could miss the joke. And his wife, Katy, cute as a kitten, laughed at each and every one of them and didn't blush once. Actually it had been mostly Adam who blushed, which was in itself hilarious.

What with dinner and coffee and Black Russians, the evening hadn't ended until Kris gave a jaw-cracking yawn at around four a.m, at which point it had seemed silly to send them back home in a cab, so the Allens had settled into Adam's guest room for the night. And Lance and Adam had fallen into bed and gone straight to sleep.

Lance did not like going to bed with Adam and having no sex. He was not used to it. He did not wish to get used to it.

Kris was in the kitchen when he got there, innocent and bed-headed and staring in bewilderment at Adam's glorious coffee machine.

"Hi," Kris said. "I thought I'd fix coffee, but—" he gestured helplessly at the multifunctional behemoth, "I don't want to launch a nuclear strike, or anything."

So Lance set things in motion, and provided juice, and contemplated eggs. He was about to ask whether Kris would prefer pancakes or waffles when a blood-curdling scream shattered the peace of the morning.

Lance dropped his orange juice and ran.

Adam was sitting up in bed and wearing an expression of utter terror. "Lance!" he cried. "My dick! It's gone!"

Lance blinked. Just behind him, Kris emitted an astonished meep.

"And look at these!" said Adam.

Lance was looking at them. It was hard not to look, when your boyfriend was sporting a pair of entirely splendid—and totally unnecessary—breasts.

*

  
It wasn't as though he'd done anything unusual last night. No crazy drugs, nothing outrageous, just food, and alcohol, sure, but not extreme, not excessive alcohol. It had been fun. It was always fun being with Kris, the least judgmental human being in the universe, even if Katy—whom Adam actually adored—was a constant reminder that for all Kris's snuggliness, he really wasn't available.

Adam had done nothing, nothing at all, to deserve this. And yet, he'd woken up, carried out the regulation morning roll call of his important bits, and found the most crucial ones absent without leave. And as if that wasn't traumatic enough, he had these—these _things_ on his chest that he was pretty damn sure had no business being there.

"Oh, dear," said Lance, from the doorway.

"Adam!" said Kris, scarlet-faced. "You—you're a woman!"

Adam felt a strong inclination to burst into tears. Before he could get around to it, however, a cute, pocket-sized blond in one of Adam's less successful T-shirts and a pair of unsuitably feminine panties wandered into view.

"What's wrong?" the new guy asked. "Why was Adam so—oh! Oh, my."

Kris turned from scarlet to white, and fainted.

*

  
In the end it was Lance who carried Kris back to the guest room. Katy, complete with overnight stubble and fair-hairy legs, seemed to be having trouble processing. Besides, she wasn't any taller than Kris, and Lance doubted she'd be able to lift him. Adam had leapt out of bed to assist, but the sight of him naked, with breasts the size of grapefruit and a vibrant auburn triangle had had Katy goggle-eyed, and Adam had swiftly changed course and was now locked in the bathroom.

So far, the morning was not going well.

Lance deposited Kris on the guest bed, and sighed. When he turned, Katy was feeling her—his—her chin, her flat (but not unshapely) chest, and the front of her tiny panties, with an expression of enormous dismay.

"What happened?" Katy asked. Katy was apparently a tenor. They could do with one of those in the house, since Adam, judging by that shriek, was now a high soprano.

"I think you turned—" Lance began.

"No, I mean. I turned into a man, obviously, but why? How? And what are we going to do now?" Well, at least there was one person in the house who wasn't going to panic. Lance approved.

"I think," he said, practically, "the first thing to do is get dressed."

"I, um. I wore a dress last night. Could you, maybe...?"

"I'll find you something," Lance promised, even though Katy's tiny man-hips were not going to hold up any pair of pants in the house. Except maybe Kris's, but Kris would be needing those himself. When he returned to the guest bedroom with a selection of possibilities (and belts), Kris appeared to be struggling back to consciousness. "We'll meet you in the kitchen. The coffee will be ready by now."

"Everything is better after coffee," Katy said, nodding. Her eyes were still a bit glazed, but she was fighting it.

"I'll go see how Adam's doing."

 

It took some time to coax Adam out of the bathroom, but eventually he (Lance was definitely not calling Adam 'she') emerged, trembling with indignation. "My dick! Gone!"

"We should discuss this, all of us," said Lance. "See if we can figure out what's going on. You should probably get dressed first."

A few minutes later, it was clear that this was going to be a problem.

"Nothing fits!" Adam moaned, attempting without success to pull up the zipper on his seventh pair of jeans. Lance was fast losing sympathy. When the first six pairs had failed to fasten around newly broadened feminine hips, he did not see that there was any virtue in trying a seventh. "And I'm going to ruin this T-shirt." It was, indeed, straining to contain Adam's magnificent new attributes.

It was interesting, Lance thought, how Adam's body had transformed itself into femaleness. He—as a she—was still taller than Lance, but not by as much as usual. Half an inch at most, Lance estimated. His features were still strong, but the jawline was somehow softened and the nose a fraction narrower. His eyes looked bigger, maybe, but that could be just the shock. Shoulders a little less broad, hands a little smaller. Feet, too, Lance supposed, and wondered whether to offer a pair of his own flip flops. His pants would still be ludicrously short on those long, pale legs, even if the hips worked—which he suspected they wouldn't. Lance's hips were not _that_ womanly.

"How about a kilt?" he suggested.

Adam glared, but rifled through the vast closet and emerged brandishing a leather skirt-thing, which proved to fit, although not very well, gaping at the waist and taut over the pelvis. In consideration of his T-shirt seams, Adam eventually pulled on a black button-down shirt. Lance hoped the buttons would be up to the task. At least he was covered, Lance thought resignedly, and went back to the kitchen. Adam would probably need to put on some makeup to face the day.

Lance cleaned the orange juice and shattered crystal off the floor, and considered what to do about breakfast. It seemed somehow inappropriate to fix pancakes or waffles, which were cheerful foods, so he made wholewheat toast and put out fresh fruit and a couple of cereal boxes. Coffee for everyone, though in the circumstances, Lance was not sure coffee was going to be enough to get them out of shock.

Adam and their guests arrived at the same moment, and sat awkwardly around the table. Katy was firmly belted into a pair of Lance's sweatpants, and one of his white T-shirts hung on her slender frame. Kris was blank-faced and twitching slightly, and seemed to be having some difficulty keeping his gaze away from Adam's black shirt, or, more particularly, from the impressive cleavage it did little to conceal. Adam was sulky, or was that sultry? All in black, and two crucial buttons had already given up the battle. He reminded Lance of... of Jane Russell in that old movie his Grandpa liked, what was it— _The Outlaw_. Oh, dear God. His Grandpa would think Adam was sexy. Lance wished very much he had not thought of that. He sat down.

"Well," he said. "So. We don't know how, we don't know why, we just know that Adam and Katy have changed sex. The good news is, it's only temporary."

There were gusts of relief.

"How do you know?" Adam asked, leaning his chin on his hands, with his elbows on the table. Kris visibly wrenched his gaze back to the fruit bowl. "Have you ever known anything like this happen before?"

"Oh, yes," Lance replied. "Back when we were touring, all five of us changed sex. Not all at the same time, but we all did. And other stuff. There was one time Justin and me swapped bodies." That had actually been pretty incredible, because they'd—never mind. "And Chris shrank. And someone got telepathic for a while. Oh, and JC turned into a cat." There were about a thousand more examples, but Lance decided it would be prudent not to go into too much detail. One way or another there was a lady present.

Now they were all staring at him. Lance was not really surprised. "It's the pop music distortion field. Reality just gets a little warped, sometimes. I think Britney had a dick, for a while," he reflected. "Guys, it'll work out. We just have to figure out why you needed to change sex, and do... whatever you have to do to resolve the situation, and everything will be fine."

"But I'm not—I don't do pop music," Katy protested. "Why me?"

"Maybe it's because of Adam. He's bound to have a bigger distortion field around him than anyone else. Sorry," Lance said. "Um. Would you like some toast?"

Kris and Adam were very carefully not looking at one another, and neither of them seemed to be in the mood for breakfast, but Katy lifted her stubbly chin and determinedly buttered a slice and ate it, crunching harshly in the silent kitchen. "I'll help you with the dishes," she declared.

"You two go sit in the other room," Lance ordered.

Silently, Kris and Adam left the kitchen.

"Well," said Katy, as soon as the door was closed. "I'm sorry, Lance, but this sucks."

"Yeah."

"I mean, it's obvious what this means, right?"

"I... um. Probably."

"I thought it was just the crazy internet people, and they were harmless, mostly, but now I changed into a man and it looks like what has to happen next is, my husband has to have sex with Adam so we can get our proper bodies back. That's just not fair!"

It wasn't, but there didn't seem to be any other rational course to follow. And yet... "What I don't understand is, why you changed too," Lance said. "Usually, it's just the one person who has to figure it out."

"But, you said, Adam's distortion field..."

"Hmm," said Lance. "Adam does everything bigger than everyone else. But I don't know, this seems. Weird."

"Yes, and you're not even the one who changed sex," Katy muttered. "And Kris is my husband! He's not supposed to sleep with anyone else. If things had just stayed normal, he never would have."

"Yeah," said Lance, again. It did suck, it really did, knowing your boyfriend was going to have sex with someone else, just because he was a girl now. He'd known about Adam's crush on Kris, the whole world had known about it, but he hadn't actually thought it was important. And nothing was ever going to happen anyway. And now, Lance supposed he was meant to give Adam a pass, say it didn't count, or something, because Adam was female now, but it did count, and it was depressing to think that the distortion field had cooked this one up. In his experience, there was always some pretty significant hidden motivation going on when things got weird like this.

"Is it going to take long?" Katy asked.

"How should I know? I mean, who knows?"

"Well, how long did it usually take for you and the guys?"

Lance considered. "A day or two, or three, I guess. Weeks, once or twice, but mostly just days."

"Thank goodness for that. I have auditions, I have stuff to do. But a few days... that's doable."

"You probably need to stay here. I mean, not if you don't want, you're less, uh, noticeable than Adam, but..."

"Thanks," Katy said. "I think it's best we do. But I'm going to need some clothes that aren't these, because, no offence, Lance, and don't think I'm ungrateful, but—"

"It's okay," Lance said. His sweatpants were ridiculously floppy on Katy's skinny new body. He wouldn't have felt comfortable like that either.

"So, do you have a tape measure?"

"Er, I guess. Why?"

"Adam needs a bra. And I'm not even going to try guessing the size."

*

  


Katy marched into the room like a man on a mission, and ordered Adam to stand. He was relieved, honestly, because he and Kris had so far stared at one another and managed to say a grand total of nothing at all, and Kris had gone red again.

"What are you doing?"

"Arms out of the way," Katy said, and when Adam complied, she (Adam really could not think of Katy as 'he', even though this new shape was awfully cute) slid a tape measure around his chest, just below his two new puppies. "Hmm," Katy said, and re-measured, this time around... everything. "Hmph. Forty-six," Katy announced. "No wonder your clothes didn't fit. You should probably have some pants, too," and down went the measuring tape to his waist and hips.

"Inside leg?" Adam asked, hopefully, but Katy just gave him a very old-fashioned look and said they'd go with 'long'. Okay, he did actually know women didn't size their clothes that way, but it was something familiar. Right now, he didn't even need to think about which side he dressed. His dick! Gone! "Why are you doing this, anyway?" He wouldn't rule out Lance storing the details for future mockery.

"You're going to need some clothes that fit," Katy said with determination. "Even if it's just for today."

"And we thought," said Lance, entering the room, "we'd better go buy the stuff for you, because if you leave the house looking like that, the paparazzi are going to be all over it. We don't need sex change rumors, even if it's true."

"You mean, I'm a woman, and I can't even go shopping?" Adam was incredulous. Sadly, they had a point. Yes, he had breasts now, but he still looked an awful lot like Adam Lambert, and the press would be horrendous. "Well, damn it, I'm going online."

*

  


"So what did you do?" Kris said in an undertone, as Adam and Katy pored over the computer screen together. Occasionally, there were excited cries: "That one has diamanté," and, "The French lace is good," and, "Ooh, leopard print!" Lance tuned them out. Adam had never bought himself a bra before, and Lance would bet cash he'd end up with at least half a dozen of the things.

"Do?" he replied, unhelpfully. As far as Lance was concerned, this was All Kris's Fault.

"When you—I mean, how do we make this stop?" Kris waved vaguely towards the happy shoppers.

"Y'all have to figure out what the cause is, and do something about it." Lance didn't actually feel like being helpful. Adam was, after all, _his_ boyfriend, even if he was a woman now. The pop music reality distortion field could insist all it liked that Adam and Kris belonged together. Lance was not going to help.

"But," Kris said, helplessly. "My wife's a man."

"You'll figure it out," said Lance.

And then Adam came over, pouting, to complain that they couldn't get anything delivered before tomorrow at the earliest, and could Lance _please_ go get him something to wear?

*

  


"Please!" Adam hissed in a fierce whisper. "Don't let him buy my clothes, okay? Lance wears terrible clothes. He thinks a Fuck Hello Kitty T-shirt is edgy. Help me. Get me something I can wear, _please_ , Katy-doll. You're my only hope."

Which was why Katy in the middle of the worst shopping trip of her life, trying to find something cool to fit a woman with a forty-six inch chest.

They had managed the bras all right. Lance was obviously bewildered to learn that Adam was now a 42D. He'd queried this: "I thought you said forty-six?" and Katy had tried to come up with an explanation for bra sizing that made sense, but there wasn't one so in the end she'd just said, "It's complicated." Still, she had a lot more experience with bras than Lance did. Luckily he was willing to go with it when she said the Victoria's Secret stores Adam had been browsing wouldn't actually be any use at all.

Lane Bryant was their best bet, for underwear at least, and by dint of visiting three different stores they managed to pick up four 42D bras that—if they actually fit—Adam would probably be willing to wear. A twenty minute diversion to Gap had brought Katy some pants she wasn't ashamed to be seen in, and a handful of shirts, and fresh underwear. But that had been the easy part. Since lunch, they'd been mocked in most of the smart boutiques, and outright laughed at in the one store Adam had mentioned, and her feet hurt.

"Okay, that's it," said Lance. "We need help." He ushered her into the nearest Starbucks, ignored three customers taking photos of the pair of them (probably to send to Perez Hilton, Katy could just imagine the stupid headlines about Lance and his boy on the side), bought them both grande caramel lattes, and called his assistant.

Katy didn't even want to buy Adam the kind of clothes that Adam would want to wear, not while Adam was an Amazon with breasts that apparently had some kind of magnetic force field. Kris certainly didn't seem able to stop staring at them like a dazed fish. And Adam's idea of suitable clothing would involve black lace, leather, sequins, spandex... or all four. None of which would interfere with the magnetic field, she was sure.

But he'd looked so pathetic and helpless, pleading with her like that, she'd had to promise.

"Thanks, baby," said Lance, happily. "I will totally buy you something while we're there." He put his cellphone away. "Lisa gave me directions to a boutique she says will work. Thank God."

Katy could not decide whether she wanted to find Adam-type garments there, or not. Her heart said no, but her feet were putting up a strong argument for yes.

 

Mercifully—her feet were definitely winning the argument by the time they arrived—Lisa's boutique really did have a selection of interesting clothes for women about twice Katy's size, and picking out a selection of T-shirts was mostly a question of looking for the black ones. Adam had maligned Lance, though, because Lance was the one who insisted on buying the leggings, and a close-fitting faux-leather bustier which would stop traffic, as well as a couple pairs of jeans in long length, and fierce, multi-strapped sandals.

"You realize," she said, tartly, as they headed back to the car, "this was probably a complete waste of time. They've had all day together without us. They've probably, you know. Changed back already."

"You haven't," Lance pointed out.

"Huh." There was that.

"If we've wasted the entire day trying to find Adam something to wear that he doesn't need any more, I may have to kill both of them," Lance said.

"I'll help you hide the bodies."

She didn't think either of them was talking about the shopping trip.

*

  


Kris went back to his own place to find some fresh clothes, so Adam was left to his own devices for hours. For want of anything better to do he tidied the kitchen, then spent a good while online trying to find out about overnight sex changes and instead learning far more than he wanted to about transitional surgery. Which this wasn't.

Daytime TV was no more interesting than he expected, so he muted it and listened to the Suicidal Tendencies playlist on his iPod and texted everyone he could think of. He tried a couple of them with What's new? Oh, I just changed sex this morning, but couldn't exactly be surprised that they didn't take him seriously. Danielle said he needed to get in touch with his feminine side and how did he feel about cramps now, huh? Brad sent some very caustic replies suggesting he was thoroughly domesticated anyway and had obviously been castrated without noticing it, and one thing led to another, and he'd probably have to be really nice to Brad at some point to make up for it, but not right now. Hell, if becoming a woman didn't give Adam an excuse for liberating his inner bitch, nothing would. Or maybe he could blame it on hormones? He had a feeling he wasn't supposed to think like that, but Adam had never censored the inside of his own head and wasn't going to start now.

He ought to get to know this new body, he thought, morosely, and went off to run himself a bath.

Sitting in hot, scented water, he told himself that he ought to examine the new equipment. Give it a test run, or something. After all, it looked like the universe, or the reality distortion field, or whatever Lance called it, was setting him up to have sex with Kris, sweet, straight Kris, and if the universe had gone to the trouble of taking away Adam's dick, the universe was probably pretty determined.

The trouble was, Adam didn't actually want to sleep with Kris. Sure, it was a sweet fantasy, he'd thought about it, especially way back at the beginning of Idol, but he'd thought about sex with a whole lot of people he didn't actually want to sleep with—that cute speed skater, the elf last year who'd tried to lure him into the Santa display, David Archuleta, the President—and he'd had plenty of sex dreams, and sometimes naked Kris had been involved, but hell, he'd once had a truly evil dream involving Perez Hilton, a baseball bat-sized dildo and a whole vat of lube. Adam did not think he could be held accountable for the machinations of his subconscious while he was dreaming.

He had not realized that Kris actually wanted to have sex with him. The hugging, and stuff, Adam had thought that was just Kris's natural—adorable—huggyness. But he must really, really want to, to make the universe perpetrate this outrage. And frankly, Adam thought, if Kris was desperate enough to make this happen, then he could have taken Adam as he was, dick and all. Adam missed his dick. He was extremely fond of it. They did everything together. And now...

He peered at the new, mysterious situation between his thighs. Really, there ought to be signposts, or something. He poked around a bit, but his heart really wasn't in it, so he sighed and hauled himself out of the tub. The mirror showed him the full glory of his new 42Ds, which somehow looked a lot bigger than that sounded. Adam spent a few minutes posing for himself, and concluded that Kris's newfound fascination for Adam's chest was probably quite justifiable. If a guy was really into breasts, these were worth looking at. Pale, round, lightly dusted with freckles. His nipples were a lot larger than before, he noticed.

No point putting on actual clothes again, Lance and Katy would soon be back with something he could wear, so he pulled on his bathrobe instead. It was big enough to close around his new dimensions, and covered everything.

Which was just as well, because as soon as Adam was nicely settled on the couch again, Kris arrived.

"Ah!" said Kris, sounding nervous. "You changed!"

"You knew that this morning," said Adam. "Oh. You mean the robe."

Kris smiled vaguely, and went to put his suitcase in the guest room. Adam decided it would be polite to do his hostly duty, and went to fix drinks for them both—coffee, as he knew Kris well enough not to expect him to be ready for vodka. Adam was ready for vodka.

"I—ah, great," said Kris, making straight for his coffee mug and downing an alarming quantity of it at once. "So. Um."

"Yeah," said Adam.

"I was thinking, we could, since it's just you and me right now, we could maybe—"

Adam braced himself.

"—sing?"

"Sing?"

"See what kind of voice you have now. I brought my guitar," said Kris.

If this was Kris's idea of seduction technique... actually, it was a bit more suave than Adam had been expecting. And yeah, it could be interesting to experiment with a different set of vocal chords.

*

  


They were doing great. Adam's range as a female was just as impressive as his range as a male, and after the initial wariness, he was letting himself go and really enjoying the music. Kris kinda wished there was a bit less emphasis on Cher and a bit more on stuff he actually knew how to play, but they managed to find a bunch of songs they both knew, and it was fun, and a whole lot more comfortable than sitting trying to make conversation when Adam was being all... female.

And then Katy and Lance got back from their shopping trip, and Katy went to help Adam figure out how to put on the bras, and Lance sat on the couch with his arms folded (Lance had some impressive muscles there) and looked at him suspiciously. I don't want your boyfriend, Kris wanted to say, but it wasn't going to help anyway. If Adam wanted Kris enough that this weird pop distortion thing had turned him into a woman, it looked like the only solution was going to be that Kris would have to have sex with him. Her. Him. And... what the hell was he going to do about that?

"Woah!" Kris said in terror as Adam came back into the room. Wearing black leggings with slits all the way up the outsides of both thighs, and a snug-fitting black T-shirt with a disturbingly low neckline. He was smiling, and insisted on doing a twirl in the centre of the room so that Kris and Lance could admire the new duds.

"Look what your wife found for me!" Adam said, excitedly.

From the doorway, Katy coughed. "Actually, Lance found those. He thought you'd like them." She was wearing that expression Kris recognized, where she wasn't sure whether to be pleased or annoyed. It was so weird, Katy's expressions on a face that was distinctly male. Katy's _face_ on a face that was male.

Adam straddled Lance's lap to thank him properly. Kris fiddled with the guitar and did his best not to notice Adam's ass.

 

No-one felt like cooking, but Adam knew this place that sent round gourmet meals, so they sat around the table together picking at dinner. Nobody wanted to state the obvious, and there didn't seem to be anything else to talk about, so it was a very quiet meal. Total contrast to last night, which had been so much fun.

Kris couldn't look at Katy. His wife was now a man. What the heck was he supposed to do? Was this so that him sleeping with Adam didn't count because he wasn't married, exactly, at the time? Kris did not think marriage vows worked like that. He remembered the 'for better, for worse' part, even if the universe didn't.

And the trouble with not looking at Katy was, he ended up mostly looking at Adam, because at least Adam didn't look like he wanted to bend Kris into a pretzel and throw him out the window, whereas Lance looked exactly like that. Lance was not being the sweet, friendly, funny guy he had been last night, not at all. He glared. He glowered. He practically snarled every sentence that came out his mouth. Frankly, it made Kris nervous, and the whole situation was complicated enough without having to worry about Adam's boyfriend's desire to murder him.

Lance got up for coffee—the coffee was about the only good thing happening here—and made quite a production of presenting it to Adam, and to Katy, and then looming over Kris before he put the cup down.

"Lance," Adam said, tiredly, "could you at least try not to be such a prick?"

"I—I honestly don't know," Lance confessed, but he sat down and made a real effort not to glare.

"Look," Kris said, "I don't know why this is happening. I just—it's kinda hard to take, you know? There's Adam with these—" he gestured, "—giant—and could you at least put on a sweater, or something, because it's really distracting. And then, I keep thinking, Katy is a guy now, and Adam's a woman, and I just wanna, like, keep hold of my dick because I'm scared it's going to disappear next. So I'm sorry if I'm not dealing as well as I could, but it's not easy, you know?"

"Yes, it must be really upsetting, wondering if your dick is suddenly going to disappear," Adam said, sweetly. "Absolutely and totally in every way just as scary _as if it actually happened!_ " He stood abruptly and strode from the room.

"And Kris? If you wanted a woman with enormous boobs, you should have married one!" Katy said, and stormed out.

Kris sat, open-mouthed. He hadn't meant—

"So, that went well," Lance said, stonily.

"How is everything my fault?" Kris pleaded.

"Who else's fault would it be?" said Lance.

*

  


Nobody was looking for after dinner conversation. Adam was behind the firmly shut door of the master bedroom, and Katy in the guest room. Lance was determined not to allow Kris access to Adam, at least not for tonight. There must be an alternative, and he was going to find it, and until he did, there would be no having of sex in this house.

Eventually Kris crumpled under the force of Lance's cold stare, and Lance watched as he knocked, and mumbled some kind of negotiation through the guest room door, and was allowed inside.

Hah.

The tiny glow of victory faded pretty fast after that. Lance sat on the couch and wondered what the hell to do, and thought about his beautiful boy, and maybe even cried a little bit, silently, into one of the throw pillows. Eventually he stretched out and tried to sleep, only to find his thoughts just kept swirling and would not let him rest. Damn it, how could Adam do this? How could Adam want—maybe it was mostly Kris's fault, but Adam had to want this too, at least a little bit. Plus there was the thing with Katy, which Lance could not convince himself was anything to do with Kris's unspoken desires.

Lance levered himself off the couch and went to remonstrate.

In the big bed, Adam was fast asleep, curled around a pillow. He hadn't washed off his eyeliner properly, and there were wiggly tracks down his cheeks.

Lance melted. His baby, his precious boy, had been crying. All alone. God, he was a selfish piece of shit. Adam had been totally traumatized, and Lance had been sulking on the couch. Silently he took off his pants and T-shirt, slipped into the bed, and slid his arms protectively around his sleeping lover.

"Lance?" A very small voice, not Adam-like at all.

"It's me, baby. It's okay."

"My dick is gone."

"I know, honey." Lance sighed. He was very fond of Adam's dick.

*

  


Katy had her back to him, so he wasn't certain, but it looked very much as if she was crying, and if there was one thing in this life Kris could not stand, it was to see Katy crying. He crawled across the bed and put his arms around her. "Sweetheart, don't, please don't. Everything's gonna work out."

"How?"

"I don't know that part yet. I don't even know how things got this crazy. I just, I love you, this has to work out." He held her close for a while, adjusting to the strange awkwardness of man-Katy who was the same height he was and whose cheek was scratchy against his neck, until she stopped crying and hugged him back.

"I didn't mean that I liked Adam's, um, new equipment," Kris said.

"Really?"

"I like yours. Yours are pretty. Just the right size."

"Except now."

"Yeah," Kris agreed, glumly.

*

  


Adam snuggled close.

"Oh—sorry," Lance muttered. "Didn't mean to, um."

"That's okay," Adam said. He tried to readjust, but his new breasts were hard to deal with. "They get in the way, don't they."

"No, no," Lance said, valiantly. "They're very. Perky."

"It's kind of weird, don't you think?"

"I think this whole situation is kind of weird."

"But you've had things like this happen before. You seem to be dealing."

"Oh. Yeah. But it was weird before, too."

"I guess. But I was talking about, uh, gravity."

"Gravity?" He could feel Lance shift to stare at him, uselessly, in the darkness.

Adam's breasts were squashing against Lance's chest now. It felt nice. "What I mean is, don't you think they ought to sag a bit? They seem a bit big to be all..."

"Perky," Lance reminded him.

"Perky. Because I know there's no silicone going on in there. At least—" could that be the explanation? No, no, it couldn't, not overnight and with no scars. "I think it's because they're new. They haven't been pulled down by gravity for years, so they're all, you know. Can we use a different word than perky, because I really don't feel like a perky kind of a person right now." Or actually, ever.

"Oh, baby," Lance said, and stroked Adam's hair. Lance's other hand sought a safe place to rest, and spread out, warm, on Adam's ribs.

"See, there's something else I've been wondering," Adam went on, feeling rather nervous and more than a bit foolish. "It'll probably sound stupid, but...

"Tell me."

It would be easier to tell him if his fingertips weren't moving, Adam thought. Less fun, though. "I was just thinking, this body's new, right? Gravity-defying breasts, and all. So I was wondering if, um. I think I'm a virgin now."

"Oh! Wow." Damn. Lance had sat up and taken his hand away.

"I haven't had sex in this body," Adam said, "and, the thing is, if I have to have sex with Kris so that I can get my own body back, I'd like to at least know what I'm doing. I mean, it's ridiculous. I've never had sex with a woman."

Lance was quiet for a moment, and his hand slid back over Adam's ribs. "I have. Had sex with a woman," he said.

"You have?"

"Sure. Long time ago. Before I got started on the kind of sex I really want."

Yeah, with guys, Adam thought sadly. Not with women, and where does that leave me? "Was it good?"

"I was a teenager. It was sex. Of course it was good. I mean, it wasn't great sex, it wasn't like it is with you, but, you know. It was good."

"So could you maybe give me some hints? See, if I have to have sex with Kris, I don't want to be, I need to, I don't want to be the clueless one, you know? I've tried making out with girls, a little bit, but. It's not the same as knowing it from the inside. I actually don't have a clue how all this works." It was too embarrassing to think that Kris, sweet, wholesome little Kris, who'd had precisely one sex partner his entire life and who Adam was willing to guarantee had never done anything remotely kinky, ever, was going to be the experienced one. What if Adam was terrible at woman-sex?

"Because you're Adam Lambert," said Lance, who plainly understood what Adam had meant.

"Yeah," Adam said in a small voice, and hid his face on Lance's shoulder.

"See, the thing is," said Lance, "I don't want you to have sex with Kris."

"What else can I do? I really, really want my dick back."

"Me too, baby. Me too. I just—you're _mine_ , and I'm sorry if that sounds ridiculous, but that's how I feel, and I don't want you to be with anyone else."

Adam hugged him tight. "I'm glad," he said, muffled. "I don't want to either, but I don't think we have a choice."

They lay there in silence for a while, holding each other. Adam tried not to breathe too deeply, because his breasts kept squashing themselves against Lance's chest, Lance's smooth, strong chest that always smelled so good, and he hadn't had sex in forty-eight hours, give or take, and it was all very difficult.

Lance's thumb stroked the underside of Adam's left breast. "Your skin feels incredible just there. It's so smooth. It's like satin."

"I guess... it's new? Like the rest of me?"

"Well," Lance said, sounding more solid, as though saying it out loud made him feel better, "I guess the only option is for me to help you out with your virgin problem."

"Really? You'll do that?"

"Hey. You're my Adam. Anybody's going to de-virginize you, it's gonna be me," Lance said with determination. "I can probably remember where everything is supposed to go." His thumb started tracing along the lower curve of Adam's breast again. "And it'll be a whole lot easier with you. You'll tell me exactly what works, right?"

"That right there, what you're doing, that works," Adam said. "You could actually, a bit more... mmm." Lance's hands sliding over both breasts now, really very nice indeed. He leaned back into the pillows and arched a bit.

"I'm guessing your nipples are still pretty sensitive," Lance said, leaning towards them.

A good guess, it turned out.

*

  


"Come on, Katy, honey. Let's get some sleep. It's been a long day."

"My feet haven't recovered yet," she said, as they undressed.

"You want me to rub them for a while?" he offered.

"Mmmm. No, I'm okay. Let's just cuddle."

Kris was definitely down with that, and drew his wife close against him as he pulled the covers over them both. Kissed her cute little nose, even though it wasn't quite as cute or as little as usual.

"Oh! Sorry." There was a world of dismay in Katy's voice.

"No, no, it's fine." Kris was maybe a little boggled by it, but no, he could be cool, he was cool, Katy was his wife. It was fine.

"Oh my God, Kris, I can't believe, oh dear..."

"Hey, don't worry. Really, it's okay."

There was yet another insistent little tap on his thigh, and Katy giggled helplessly. "I think it has a mind of its own."

"What, you mean, the rest of you stopped thinking I'm sexy?" he said, faking indignation. "That's what's supposed to happen."

"It's not happening to you," she said, rather sadly.

"Um." Actually...

"This is really weird," Katy said after a few minutes.

"Yeah," said Kris, stroking her firmly through the flap in her cotton boxers. "Good weird, though, right? Not bad, icky weird. Uh, you know you could do this to me, if you like." Katy's hand slid confidently down Kris's boxers. A hand that was larger than he'd expected—how was it he kept expecting everything to be girl-Katy? He had Katy's _cock_ in his hand!

And yet, hearing the little sounds she made deep in her throat, and the way she was stroking him, it was comfortingly familiar.

*

  


"See, my friend Wendy used to rant, back in the day, she had this boyfriend who used to whine about how difficult it was with women, and Wendy would say, men are the ones who can read maps and follow directions, and it's _front and center_ , guys, how hard can it fricken' be?" Lance's fingertips were circling, very lightly.

"I think you found it," Adam said, and spread his legs a bit wider.

"Of course," Lance said, "the real problem isn't finding it, it's figuring out what to do when you get there. Like, do you... tease?"

"Teasing is actually good," Adam said. After a while he said, "Or something else might be good, too."

"Stroking?"

"Ah, yes. Stroking. Yes."

"Or," Lance said thoughtfully, "do you press down hard—"

"That! That! That's what you do!" Adam's hips came up. Lance chuckled, and he obliged.

"Fuck, baby, that is seriously good." It felt incredible! So intense, so... weird, really, but in the best way. Lance's fingers slid out from below Adam's and dipped carefully inside him, and that felt even better. "More," he said, "I want more!" He slid his foot along Lance's thigh, splayed himself wide open for Lance's fingers. "Deeper, yes? I think—Oh! Fuck, that's, there's a place—forward a little bit, up, oh, yes, deep like that." Adam slid his own hands up to squeeze his breasts, scissored his nipples between his fingers, and concentrated on the incredible sensations in places where he'd never even _had_ places before, while Lance's fingers worked on him and in him, and he moaned and demanded more. His orgasm surprised him, like an earthquake rippling out from the epicentre under Lance's hand.

"Oh!" he said, when he got his breath back. "Oh, that's _good!_ "

"Do you want to stop now or are you up for more?"

Adam clamped his thighs firmly around Lance's waist, and wriggled impatiently.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Lance, and reached for the condoms.

*

  


"I need a Kleenex," Katy muttered.

"Isn't there a box in the nightstand?"

She levered herself up and investigated. Not on top, but in the drawer there were... ah. A selection of condoms in a brocade-covered box.

How Adam.

"I found some," said Kris, handing her a handful of tissues.

"Thanks. You know what the weirdest thing about this whole deal is? It's me turning into a man."

"I think Adam turning into a woman is about the same amount of weird."

"Mmm. But let's think about this logically. If Adam wanted to have sex with you, he'd want to be in his usual body, wouldn't he?"

"I... guess. I was never in a situation like this before. Even the Idol mansion never got this strange."

"But if _you_ wanted to have sex with Adam, that would explain him being a woman now," Katy said. "There's actually an explanation for the Adam situation, but for me, unless I'm supposed to have sex with Lance to keep him busy while you and Adam get to it, then there doesn't seem to be an explanation for me."

After a moment, Kris said, "I—I don't want you to have sex with Lance. I don't want you to be with anyone but me."

"And I don't want to be with anyone but you," Katy replied. "Which leaves us with a problem. How do I get back like I'm supposed to be? And Adam, too. It all comes back to why this happened."

"I don't want to have sex with Adam, I swear."

"Did you ever think about it?"

"No!"

"Wow, that was fast. Are you sure you never thought about it?"

"No! I mean, yes, I'm sure."

"Really, really sure?"

Kris looked at her helplessly. "I didn't actually want it to happen. I mean, have you seen the _size_ —uh..."

"So you have maybe thought about it, just a little bit."

"Okay, I maybe thought about it. Just thought about it. Not in a wanting it to happen kind of a way."

He looked so cute, earnest and scrunch-faced and worried. Katy relented. "It's okay. I know you never would have done anything about it."

"It was just, you know."

"Fantasy."

"Yeah."

They fell silent.

"So," Katy said. "I have an idea..."

*

  


It turned out Adam as a woman was even toppier than Adam as a man. Or possibly it was their mutual unfamiliarity that meant he needed to give a constant stream of explicit instructions. "More, no, shallow, just a little bit, that's really good, keep doing that, now deep, give it to me hard, more, more, now shallow..."

Lance grabbed Adam's waist and rolled them. "Ride me," he gasped. "Show me how you want it."

*

  


"It feels weird," Katy said, "but it's good weird, not nasty icky I-don't-like-this weird."

"Oh," said Kris. "You're sure it doesn't hurt?"

"It's good, I promise."

"So you think—"

"I think we're going to need lots of lube," Katy said, practically. "What I don't understand is, why there isn't lube in this nightstand along with all the condoms."

"There's condoms in there? My side just has Kleenex."

"I think it's sweet," Katy said. "Making sure their guests' needs are taken care of."

"Maybe not just the guests," said Kris. "Come on, you know they've had sex in every room in this house. Although, not tonight, I'm guessing. Not with Adam all..." He gestured. Katy narrowed her eyes at him. "No, I mean, I'm just saying. Lance is gay, so."

"So they're probably just cuddling," Katy said. "Not like us."

"Well, we're married," said Kris, reasonably. "We're supposed to have sex."

"Bringing us back to the matter of lube," said Katy. "I think I know where to find something."

*

  


Adam kneeling above him, teasing his cock, sliding down hard, riding him fast and furiously, taking exactly what he wanted—it was incredibly hot. Incendiary. Lance would not have been surprised to see smoke rising from the sheets. When Adam slid his legs between Lance's, Lance pressed his feet into the mattress and thrust up as hard as he could. When Adam leaned forward and braced his arms on either side of Lance's head, Lance obediently squeezed and sucked Adam's breasts, and when Adam rose back up and straddled his hips, Lance kept his thumbs right where Adam had put them and held on for the ride.

And afterwards, when Adam collapsed onto the bed next to him and stared at him with wide, dazed eyes, Lance was just as wide-eyed when he stared back.

*

  


"You were right, it is kinda weird. Definitely good weird," Kris said breathlessly, into the pillow. "Really good weird. Uh, you can go a bit faster now. Oh. Yeah."

* * *

  


Everything was quiet.

Lance risked opening one eye. In the dim light of morning he could discern the still-sleeping lump of Adam beside him. Good.

Willing his legs to support him, Lance inched his way out of the tangled bedding and sidled into the bathroom. He didn't dare stay in bed any longer, he hadn't the stamina. Adam Lambert, god of sex, he could keep up with, but Adam Lambert, sex goddess, had exhausted Lance's cock, mouth and hands _and_ half the contents of Adam's toy box, and Lance was in serious need of refuelling before Adam woke up, because he was absolutely and totally certain Adam was going to demand more. Lance had no objection to supplying as much more as he could handle, but he had to keep up his strength.

He went straight to the refrigerator and drank about a quart of orange juice without even bothering with a glass, wolfed down a banana, then got out everything he could find that would contribute to a mighty and restorative breakfast. Eggs, bread, he could make pancakes, thank God there were steaks, he could eat a whole cow...

Lance was setting the coffee machine about its business when Kris wobbled into the kitchen looking even more bewildered than he had yesterday morning, before this all began. "Hi," Kris said, and made for the table, where he poured himself a large glass of milk and drank it straight off. He sat, wincing a little. Kris didn't seem in the mood for conversation, and Lance couldn't think of anything useful to say either, so he busied himself with pans and soon set heaped plates at his own place and Kris's.

"Man, you are a lifesaver," said Kris. "I feel like I didn't eat in days."

Lance was just pouring the coffees when Katy walked in.

"Hi," she said, and kissed Kris's ear.

"Katy! You're—you're back!" Kris leaped out of his chair and hugged her hard, actually spun her off her feet, and kissed her enthusiastically.

"Congratulations," Lance said, beaming at her and offering her a mug. "Uh, you wouldn't happen to know how—"

"Here," she said, demurely, and handed him the Crisco. Confused, Lance put it back in the cupboard.

Katy smiled enigmatically, but before he could ask what she wanted the Crisco for, an ear-splitting "Woo-HOO!" erupted from the master bedroom. "Lance Bass, get your fabulous ass in here RIGHT NOW!"

***

  


"I didn't order Chinese," Adam said, puzzled, into the house phone.

 _Order's in the name of Allen?_

"Oh. Okay, sure, bring it up."

"We should probably get some clothes on," Lance said, from the bed. He made no move to get dressed, however, until Adam prodded him and told him to get his ass out of bed if he wanted food, or else he, Adam, would eat everything in the house.

"I fit in my jeans again," Adam said happily, pulling them on. He wouldn't miss the bras, not at all, although—"I'm keeping those leggings," he said. Leggings were unisex, right? He padded downstairs and accepted the delivery, which Kris or Katy had apparently paid for already—where were they, anyway?—and took it into the kitchen. There was no Kris, and no Katy, only a clean, tidy kitchen. And a note on the table.

 _Gone home to celebrate,_ it read. _Thanks for everything, sorry about the bedsheets. K and K_

"Bedsheets?" Adam said, startled, and handed the note to Lance.

"Oh my God," Lance said, and began to laugh. Adam would have called him on this irritating behavior, but he was way too hungry, so he attacked the cartons and they spent the next twenty minutes happily pigging out.

"So," Adam said, when most of the cartons were empty. "What was so funny?"

"Crisco," said Lance.

"Ew," said Adam. "Also, huh?"

"Don't worry about it," Lance said. "You know, it's funny how things worked out. I was afraid I was supposed to have sex with Katy, to, like, even things up for everyone. Boy-Katy, I mean. And she was an adorable little twink, but so totally not my type."

"I thought she was really cute," said Adam.

"Of course you did."

"Anyway," Adam said, hastily, "you had sex with me, and I seem to remember not being your type either, for a while there."

"Turns out you just can't help being my type. You know, I think." Lance took a deep breath. "I think this whole thing was prob'ly my fault. I wanted to be sure you wouldn't sleep with Kris even if you could, so, when you changed into a woman and you still wanted me—"

"No, no! It wasn't you, it was me! I have these stupid, look, I still remember being, you know, the fat kid in school, and you're just so—but I changed into a _woman_ , and you still wanted me."

They looked at one another.

"You know," said Lance, "any second now, Kris is going to call and apologize for this all being his fault, and Katy's going to say it was actually her fault."

"Why would it be Katy's fault? I figured her for an innocent bystander."

"Because she needed proof that Kris wanted her more than—I mean, even if she was a guy, she was still the only one for Kris."

"Then the only one who didn't do anything to cause it, was Kris. And you, Lance Bass, you were very hostile to him. You should be ashamed. Oh, wait, maybe... did he want to prove to Katy that even if he could have straight-people sex with me, he wouldn't? Was that it?"

"Hmm," said Lance.

"What?"

"It's nothing."

"What do you know that I don't?"

"Just that Kris was kinda uncomfortable sitting down this morning."

Adam stared at him. So—but—really? Really?

The phone rang.

"You know what?" said Adam. "Let's not answer it."

So they went back to bed.


End file.
